


Yandere Hellsing Drabbles

by McSlashy



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Creepy Alucard (Hellsing), F/F, F/M, Hellsing Organization, Hellsing Ultimate OVA, Human/Vampire Relationship, Jealous Alucard (Hellsing), Section XIII: Iscariot, Smut, Vampire Sex, Vampire Turning, Vampires, Yandere, Yandere Alucard, Yandere x Reader, alexander anderson - Freeform, yandere anderson, yandere hellsing, yandere integra, yandere maxwell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 30,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26568211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McSlashy/pseuds/McSlashy
Summary: A bunch of yandere Hellsing drabbles from my Tumblr that I plan to update regularly.I've indicated which chapters are NSFW and any trigger warnings :)
Relationships: Alexander Anderson & Reader, Alexander Anderson/Original Character(s), Alexander Anderson/Reader, Alucard & Integra Hellsing, Alucard & Seras Victoria, Alucard (Hellsing)/Reader, Alucard/Original Character(s), Enrico Maxwell/Original Character, Enrico Maxwell/Reader, Integra Hellsing/Original Character(s), Integra Hellsing/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 127





	1. Alucard: Ancient Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preface: If you want to make a request, you can head on over to my Tumblr and do so there. Please be sure to read my rules first, though. You can find them embedded in my masterlist.  
> Also, please don't forget to donate if you're digging my work. There are haaaard times: https://ko-fi.com/psychologycatcoffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alucard x Reader, in which you return to the base hurt and he can't contain his simmering anger.

Both of them had known that this moment would come at some point in their relationship, though when it did, neither of them had been prepared for the fallout. He hadn’t expected you to arrive back at the Hellsing manor bloody, and you hadn’t expected him to erupt the way he had. Very little phased Alucard; he had been around long enough to know that misplaced fury was almost always a poor choice. Alas, when you had limped through the door after being missing for twenty-six hours, clothes minimal and torn, hair an utter mess, and cuts littering your body, he had shown a sort of rage that you had never seen.

“Who did this to you?” He had asked sternly, no emotion in his voice but everything you needed to see plastered across his face.

You coughed as he picked you up in his arms, making his way to the infirmary. He passed Walter on the way, who casted you a genuine look of concern. This only served to make you panic. If the old Butler was worried for you, perhaps you had been roughed up far more than you thought.

“A branch of Iscariot,” you managed to choke out in response to the earlier question. “I’ve been gone for days-”

“Twenty-six hours,” Alucard corrected.

You groaned. When you had escaped from the two members who had taken it upon themselves to capture you, it had felt as though at least three days had passed. Between passing out in the middle of torture and other other questionable practices to test your innocence, you must have gotten disoriented. Never had you experienced such a slow passage of time like this.

“Did they say why they took you?” He asked, teeth visibly clenched.

He already knew the reason. He knew it was because you were his. No doubt you were to have been a sort of twisted gift for paladin Anderson to do with as he pleased. It made an ancient anger erupt within him as he growled lowly. There would be no mercy when he saw The Ripper again; he would tear him limb from limb for having his piss-poor excuses for men lay their hands on you.

“They asked me if I was that vampire’s whore when they took me,” you almost laughed. “You can put the pieces together.”

“Did you kill them?”

You shrugged weakly and coughed. “Maybe.”

“After you’ve healed, you are not to leave the manor without myself or Seras ever again,” he snarled. “I thought you could take care of yourself but it seems I was in error.”

“That’s goddamn ridiculous,” you hissed. “I won’t be confined-”

“You will do as you’re told.”

His gaze snapped downward to stare at you in his arms, and you had never seen him look so carnal. Even when you watched him do battle, he hadn’t ever had the fire in his eyes that he did now. Something told you that you weren’t going to win this argument, that you would have to return to it later. There was not an ounce of warmness in his tone; he couldn’t see anything beyond his own desires.

He burst into the infirmary and dropped you gently onto a free bed. There were other soldiers present, as well, some still recovering from wounds. The nurse on duty rushed to you immediately.

“What’s happened?” She inquired with a measured voice - a true professional.

“She was kidnapped by human waste in Iscariot,” he replied lowly.

The woman nodded and got to work cutting off your clothing. One of her assistants threw a fresh bedcover over your naked form, though none of the men in the room dared to look, regardless. It was common knowledge by now that Alucard was starting to develop an unhealthy possessiveness with you. Poor Pip had tried to greet you upon first committing to Hellsing and had received quite a fright from the shadows. At this point, everyone knew better than to interact with you in any way.

You didn’t quite see the danger you were in yet. You didn’t quite see the red flags that were popping up. You would soon, though, and by that time it would be too late. He would call it love in a sickening tone. You would call it obsession.

As the nurses worked on your cuts, you closed your eyes and tried to fall asleep. It was the best thing you could do for your own recovery at present. Alucard understood this, as well, backing away from the table and glancing at the door. He wanted to go and ensure that the men were dead - to ensure that they all died for what they had done to you. He glanced back at the head nurse, catching her curious eye.

“If I return to find her dead, your entire bloodline will pay for your mistake,” he told her calmly.

She nodded, used to working with a beast like him, though she did maintain a small bit of worry for your wellbeing. Just because the vampire was so protective of you, didn’t mean you were safe with him. She hoped that you knew this.

“She should be stabilized by the time you return,” she responded curtly.

“I hope so, for your sake, little nurse.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you to your momentary peace and prompting the healthcare professionals to do their job.


	2. Alucard: Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alucard x Reader, in which you are given an impossible choice and you defy him.
> 
> Trigger warning for death and implied non-con.

You trembled on your knees before the man and his wife, Alucard’s gun in your hand. Your eyes were red with tears and your throat hurt from screaming. You didn’t know what to do. You only knew what he wanted you to do - the crime that he wanted you to commit. His hand came to rest on your shoulder.

“Hurry up, darling,” he snickered. “Which one?”

“Neither…!” You breathed. “I can’t shoot-”

“Choose one or I’ll shoot them both.”

The wife splayed herself in front of her husband, a desperate attempt to save his life. The man was frozen with terror, clearly unable to move. He hadn’t expected a vampire and his whore, as he had called you prior, to break into their small home and threaten them. The attack had been completely random. They were innocent, as far as you knew. And even if they weren’t, who were you to take their lives away? You weren’t the law. You weren’t anybody and yet, their lives were in your hands.

You brought the weapon up and aimed it shakily at the wife. She clamped her eyes shut and shook her head, knowing that she would die to keep her partner alive. You moved the gun to her husband, who cowered in fright behind his lover. There was no way for you to make the correct choice; there was no correct choice. This was the definition of insanity. Usually Alucard wasn’t this sadistic.

“Three seconds, my dear,” he proposed, amusement in his tone.

You looked at the two humans again, trying to decide which of them you would spare as the madman counted down to zero. At the last second, you cocked the gun, threw your body backward, and fired the weapon at his face. You watched as he rose an eyebrow before you pulled the trigger, and you could have sworn you saw him start to grin.

When his head flew back from the force of the bullet, you lifted yourself to your feet and encouraged the couple to do the same. Still scattered, it took them a little too long to get up and heed you.

“Go, go, go!” You pleaded. “He’s not human. He’s going to-”

The sound of a bullet ripping by your skull made you gasp. Your terror only increased when you heard the spurting and gargling of the man, who promptly capsized before your eyes. His wife was next to go, before you could even think to rip in front of her in a sorry attempt to save her life. You didn’t have to glance behind you to know what had happened. The being of calamity and dismay, himself, had taken it upon himself to destroy two more lives. Your would be next, if you played your cards poorly.

“I’m going to what, pet?” He cackled wildly. “Kill them?”

You groaned, finally facing him, heart full of agony. There was nothing you could say to take it back. There was nothing you could have done, either. Even if you had chosen one of the two to sacrifice, he might have merely silenced the other anyway. You couldn’t blame yourself, but you knew you still would.

The gunshot wound that would have harmed any regular being was no longer present, though his face was visibly sizzling from his natural regenerative ability. He looked as crazy as he truly was. He began to advance on you, gun in hand. You could have shot him again, but what good would it have done? You couldn’t kill him.

“Why would you do this?” You dared to inquire, already knowing the answer.

“A test of obedience,” he said simply. “You failed.”

You backed away.

“And I’ve been waiting for you to fail.”

Your body hit the wall on the far side of the house, and he was upon you.

“I’ve been waiting to see that fire again.”


	3. Alucard: Careless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alucard x Reader, in which you betray Alucard and he's sick of your attitude.
> 
> Trigger warning for possessiveness and violence.

Your back struck the back of the pillar at full force, nearly knocking you out. Your head spinning and your body in agony, you groaned aloud. There was no way that you could get up on your own and continue the fight. That was fine, however; you still had your crossbow.

You coughed up a mixture of phlegm and blood, spitting it to the side as you reached around to load your weapon. You had to be quick or you would be dead before you could make a single shot. You knew he wasn’t above ending your life after the atrocity you had just pulled. You knew that you were no longer exempt from dying by his hand now that you had betrayed him so completely.

Grimacing, you searched around in the dimly lit chapel for your target. He was as elusive as usual, not yet revealing his location until he was prepared to strike. Would he go easy on you given the history between the two of you? Surely he could see why you had rebelled against him. You hadn’t hidden your discontent with him during the many months that he had forced his affections onto you. He had to understand; he was too wise not to. The issue was solely whether he wanted to comprehend your feelings or not. Based on his selfish nature, you very much doubted that he would.

You sighed as you recalled how you had put yourself into such a dreaded situation. You had been sold out by a Catholic paladin - you couldn’t believe your luck. As soon as things he had projected that the battle would bring him more harm than good, he had halted his actions and fled. You wouldn’t have minded retreating if he had bothered to take you with him; that had been the plan, after all. You had given Iscariot important information on the Hellsing organization in exchange for protection. In return for your cooperation, they had abandoned you.

And when they had abandoned you, Alucard started to unleash his unbridled fury on you.

You had gotten a few shots on him with your pistol but he had swiftly disarmed you and tossed you into the very pillar you currently leaned against. You didn’t know why Anderson had chosen this silly old place. He mentioned vaguely that he had experienced some unsavoury business within its walls prior. Perhaps that had been why; he had thought it was the perfect ground for an ambush based on its pre-existing negative energy.

“(F/n),” his voice tickled your eardrums and made you shiver. “It’s time for your punishment.”

You hurled yourself around, coming face to face with his deranged visage. Before he could sink his fangs into your neck, you released the crossbow you had been holding. The bolt embedded itself in his face, throwing him backward with enough force to make him stumble.

“Get away from me!” You screeched, readying your weapon again.

He regenerated from the shot nearly instantly, jerking his head back toward you with a vicious grin. You fired at him a second time, but missed as he rushed toward you. You didn’t have enough time to reload, so you did the only thing that came to mind. Taking one of your bolts, you brandished it as a weak spear, breaking it against his broad chest.

It had been the outcome you had come to expect. It wasn’t easy to get a good shot on him and it was damn near impossible to land a fatal hit. You had already known your fate. Perhaps if that bastard paladin had stuck around longer, you might have stood a chance at gravely wounding him.

His claws dug into your arm as he ripped your body under him, splaying himself atop you like a rabid animal. His face was deranged and he was drooling. The prospect of truly owning you laid non-too-elegantly before him. If he took your life where you stood, there would be no room for betrayal anymore. You would never leave him again. He would be the last thing you would see, hear, and feel; you final memory would be of him and your own stupidity. He displayed his fangs in a wild grin, barely able to contain himself from tearing into your neck like he had always longed to.

You didn’t fancy begging. In particular, you despised the idea of groveling for your life to a vampire like him. He wouldn’t spare you unless he wanted to - no amount of pleading would change his mind. It would only serve to please his cruel carnal instincts.

“What did you think you were doing, (f/n)?” He inquired coldly, inches from your mouth. “Did you think that scum could defeat me!?”

You tried to shove him away, but he snatched your wrists and held them out of the way. You gasped as you felt your wrist nearly break at the sheer force of his yank.

“Yes!” You spat, never losing your wit. “Why else would I have enlisted Anderson, if not to-”

His velvety eyes narrowed and he growled. “Don’t say his name. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Anderson?” You prodded with a smirk, as blood ran down your face from your head wound.

He leaned down and dug his fangs into your flesh, a punishment for your defiance. You shrieked behind pursed lips as he drank his fill of your blood. He wasn’t turning you - there was a special way in which he did that. This was merely a prideful feed. It turned out that your lineage was immune to the effects of vampirism, lest it was done in a ritualistic manner detailed in one of your great uncle’s diaries. Coming from a long line of vampire hunters, this was an evident perk.

“Are you going to drink me dry?” You panted as you felt your vision blurring. “Are you going to fucking kill me like this, you son of a bitch?!”

He responded by gripping your chin with one domineering hand and roughly adjusting your head so that he could settle into the crook of your neck. Your hissed as you bit your tongue, tasting the same blood that he was savouring elsewhere. With your free hand, you tried to push him back with the little strength you had left.

There were worse ways to go, should you meet your end with his fangs in your neck. At the very least, you would pass out long before your heart stopped, long before you suffocated and your body shut itself down. Whatever happened after this wouldn’t matter. You would never rouse again. You closed your eyes and groaned as you thought about all the things you could have done with your life, had the vampire not stolen you away.

When he finally released you, you were half-dead in his arms. He pulled back, eyes running over your body as he contemplated how you would meet your demise. It wouldn’t be as soon as you thought, that was for sure. He planned to drag out your torture for as long as possible, even if it took years. Only when you believed yourself to be safe from death would he allow your descent to doom.

There was no way he could trust you again, and there was no way for him to ensure that you wouldn’t escape. The only option was to make you his forever, so that you may never leave his side.

Your soul must always belong to him.

He knew why you had planned an ambush today. He knew it was because you didn’t feel for him the way he felt for you. He knew it was because he was truly a monster at heart - that he had hurt you by keeping you for himself. Still, it didn’t matter. Why couldn’t you have merely accepted him? Why couldn’t you have given yourself to him, like he had coaxed you to do so many times in the past? Your mood would have greatly improved, as would his attitude toward you.

Why couldn’t you have given him a chance?

He got to his feet and stared down at you. Your body was a mess on the stone floor, but you still looked like a treat. Alas, unlike many times in the past, the first thought in his mind wasn’t to rush back to the estate to ravage you. His mind was silent and solemn.

For once he was unsure of himself, and it was all your fault.


	4. Alucard: Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW below.
> 
> Alucard x Reader, in which you disobey his ambiguously and he finally decides to consummate your relationship.
> 
> Trigger warning for non-con/dub-con.

“I don’t understand,” you groaned, exasperated. “I followed an order directly from Sir Integra.”

“You should have declined.”

“Isn’t that your master? I can’t decline. She wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Watch your tongue, my dear,” he growled.

You rolled your eyes, unable to resist the temptation. Regularly, you would have stopped arguing here. This time was different, however; he was angry with you for following orders. You couldn’t back down, lest you be punished unjustly in the future for doing the same thing.

“Listen, please,” you sighed. “She asked me to seduce the target. What was I supposed to do?”

“Have you gone deaf?” He laughed humorlessly. “I already told you - declined the mission.”

You glared at him. “And I already told you, this was an order from your master. It’s like you think-”

“Enough!” He howled, voice shaking the room with its ferocity. “You’re arrogant and I’m pissed off.”

“You’re pissed off because I followed orders,” you scoffed, not deterred by his rage. “I don’t understand.”

He stared at you then, the shadows around him dancing as he debated what to do about your attitude. It wasn’t often that you were this much of an upstart. It was likely rooted in a misunderstanding, which could be forgiven. For once with you, he didn’t want to act too brash. On the other hand, you were being far too defiant. He wouldn’t want you to grow accustomed to speaking with him this way.

He walked toward you. You matched his every step forward with a back step of your own. You were no fool; you could tell that he meant to cause you harm. There was never a time where he had approached you with your best intentions in mind.

“You don’t understand why you’re here?” He asked calmly, his vocal tone contradicting his movements. “I’ll ask again - have you gone deaf?”

You shook your head slowly. “You’re not making sense.”

“Am I not?” He cackled darkly. “Are you confused?”

Your back hit the wall and you gasped. How many times had you touched the stone pressed against your back? How many times had he forced you here?

“Yes.” You managed.

“Are you frightened of me?” He drawled, face contorting into a grin.

“Yes.”

“Then why,” he said, smashing his hand against the wall next to your head. “Would you go against my word, little one?”

You swallowed. “I don’t understand - please.”

He hooked his arm behind you and pulled your body close, pressing you against him so that his face was engulfed in the scent of your hair. He moaned at the aroma, especially loving how you had started quivering like a newborn. He ran his tongue along the length of your neck and you let him, unable to do anything else.

“Do you want to know what I want from you, my beautiful bride?”

“Tell me what you want from me, Alucard,” you whispered.

“I want your heart,” he responded coolly. “You’ve already captured what’s left of mine.”

He pulled back and tilted your chin upward so you could meet his gaze. His eyes burned bright red as he took control of your mind for the next little while. You lulled away, eyes going pure black and face devoid of emotion. Like this, you were merely an agreeable puppet; however, you could still see what he was saying and doing to you. He very much liked this method of manipulation. Sometimes it even stuck when your consciousness was allowed to reemerge.

“You want me to have your heart, don’t you, darling?” He inquired slyly, leaning your body back in his strong arms.

“Yes, master.”

He simpered as he stroked your neck with a gloved finger. “You’ll let me have you, won’t you, pet?”

“Yes, master,” you replied, even smiling. “I want you to have me.”

“Take off your clothes and sit on the bed,” he demanded. “Be a good girl tonight, (f/n).”

You did as you were told, the while watching through glossy eyes as you moved against your wishes. You understood why he had gotten angry, now. It was because you meant far more to the possessive bastard than you had originally thought. He had passed you off as a mere plaything - something to occupy his time when he had an abundance of it. He liked hurting and scaring you. He liked teasing you and forcing you into things like this. It was only now that you understood what he had been doing.

All of this had been his way of showing you that he loved you. It made you nauseous to think about, but it was true. This wasn’t love in its most conventional form; this was an abusive sort of love that you had vowed to never be involved in. This was the sort of love you read in newspaper headlines, where the disgruntled husband killed his wife and children before turning his weapon on himself. This was the sort of love that you wouldn’t survive.

As you screamed at yourself to leap from the mattress and race for the door, pounding against the recesses of your mind, your arms embraced the vampire with glee. You spread your legs for him as he entered you swiftly and without preparation. He even made you thank him for it as he gripped your calves and sent pleasure rippling down your spine.

“You dared to raise your voice at your master,” he grunted. “Did you think yourself to be immune to punishment?”

You shouted brainless words of praise for him in response.

“I’ve been too soft on you, little one,” he drawled, halting so that you remained full of him. “It’s about time you were broken.”

He leaned down and broke the skin on your neck with both fangs, a simple gesture that he had done many times in the past. This time, though - this time felt better than ever before. The way your nails dug into his back and your legs spasmed atop his shoulders as he drank drove him wild. He pulsed inside you with every sip, bringing himself to the brink before resuming his hard, long thrusts. When he finally broke free from your flesh, he immediately captured your lips in a heated kiss.

He swiped his tongue across his fang, cutting it and drawing a miniscule amount of blood, which you gladly consumed. Your body was going limp in his arms but he was determined to finish. This act of consumation was just as important as the bite, after all. He had always imagined a much grander display when it came time to turn you, but this would have to do. The circumstance had called for it. Your behaviour had called for it.

As he filled you up with his fluids, you fell into unconsciousness. You would wake up several hours from now with a fresh taste for blood, desperate to satiate yourself and his desires. He smiled lovingly at you as he thought about the new possibilities that came with this change.

Now, you would understand the unspoken bond he had formed with you. Now, you would understand that you were his, and no one else could have you but him. Mission or otherwise, he would be the only one to see your body at its most vulnerable.

“Rest, my bride,” he murmured, pulling out of you and adjusting his collar. “Rest with my heart.”


	5. Alucard: Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW below for edging.
> 
> Alucard x Reader, in which you disobey him and he needs to teach you your place.
> 
> Trigger warning for non-con/dub-con.

It was just something you had wanted to prove to yourself. There was no reason other than that as to why you had done something so reckless, clearly defying both Alucard’s and Integra’s orders to be cautious. Being confined constantly, always under the vampire’s watchful eye, never making your own decisions and seldom thinking for yourself - it got to you every once in a while. Why not do something of your own volition, just to show that you were still in there somewhere, beneath the mind control and manipulation?

“Do you understand how reckless you were?!” Alucard’s deep voice, raised a few octaves higher than usual, resounded in your ears as you made for the door.

Ah, yes this was why.

Turning slowly and stepping away from the exit to your shared bedroom, you tried to relax your nerves. Alas, upon viewing him in the darkness, red eyes the only things visible in the haze that engulfed half of the room, you could do nothing to stop your body from trembling. There was no way you could explain your perspective to him - not when he presented himself like this.

“Well?” He growled when you didn’t reply.

“I’m sorry,” you offered. “Truly.”

You hadn’t wanted to catch a tone with him but it was the way he grilled you that always made you bothered. Nothing good would come of insolence, you knew, but nothing good was to come, regardless. It didn’t matter if your apology was sincere; all that mattered was that he made you pay for your error.

“Do I sense sarcasm in your words, pet?” He asked, voice dangerously playful. “Are you being disingenuine with your master?”

You wanted to tell him that you weren’t. You wanted to get to your knees right there and beg him not to harm you. Your heart, however, wanted something else. It wanted you to assert yourself, to have power for once. Even if the punishment was grand, this would satisfy you. This would allow you to recall who you were in the long term. It would surely be worth the hassle.

“I acted rashly,” you acknowledged. “But no one got hurt and I-”

“Have you forgotten that your mind is but an open canvas to me?” He chuckled. “You defied me to retain some sense of your own volition, did you not?”

You closed your eyes and exhaled. “Yes, but also to hurry the mission along.”

“So you could return here and receive your punishment faster?”

You opened your eyes and took a shaky breath. You could tell he was grinning and it made you sick. He loved vulnerable little moments like these,where he could easily overturn whatever strength you thought you had just to make a point. You didn’t know what he had in store for you, but you knew you wouldn’t like it.

“You won’t like it,” he reaffirmed. “But you’ll thank me for it all the same, won’t you?”

“Yes.” You forced yourself to whisper.

“Come here.”

You did as he asked, walking over to the darker side of the room. You felt his shadows caress your body in an oddly comforting manner that you knew would merely get ripped away at the slightly inconvenience. This wasn’t the time for him to console you; such actions were reserved for a normal lover. The way he loved you was far different than you had ever been loved before.

“Take your clothes off and get on the bed.” He demanded, voice tickling your ears.

“Please-”

“Do as you’re told.”

With a heavy heart, you did just that. If you went any further than you already had trying his patience, you ran the risk of him incapacitating you for an undetermined amount of time. You recalled when you had gone out on your own one night, early into your relationship (if you want to call it that) with him. He had broken your leg upon return, when you had repeatedly denied him the answers and compliance he sought.

You peeled off your outfit, starting with your top and finishing with the underwear that lay beneath it. You had an idea of what he had in store for you. Various times in the past, he had used stimulation as a form of reprimand. He tied you to his bed and edged you, over and over again, never quite letting you reach orgasm until he saw fit. It could take hours of off and on torture for you to achieve release… if he gave it to you at all this time.

Afterward, he would revert to his regular self as usual. He would sit down on the edge of the bed and release your limbs, stroking your hair and holding you close for as long as it took for you to be okay again. He would whisper sweet nothings into your ear, about how special you were, and how he wished you would simply obey so he didn’t have to hurt you. It was twisted, but you had grown to like it. It was one of the few times he was undoubtedly kind to you. It gave you something serene to look forward to during these punishments.

When you sat on the bed, he finally revealed himself from the shadowy mass. He was dressed in his typical attire, minus his red hat and yellow-tinted sunglasses. The smirk on his lips was one of evil - very fitting of his nature.

“If you despise me so much, my dear, you can always leave,” he snickered, reading your pungent thoughts of him.

“You know I can’t,” you grumbled. “You’ll never let me.”

“Ah, but I so love it when you try!”

Laying back on the mattress, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes, lest it get you into further trouble. His dark tendrils wrapped around your arms and legs, binding them in place and spreading you wide for him. You looked away, face flushed. You never got used to the sudden exposure of your figure, even if the vampire did find it appealing.

“Look at me - I want to see all the pleasure that ripples through that pretty body of yours,” he purred, a single gloved finger pressing against your entrance.

There was nothing you could do to stop the moans that flew from your mouth once he started. Your hands clawed at your bindings and your hips bucked, begging him to give you what you wanted.

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t; not after your disobedience. He didn’t care if he had to force you to the brink a dozen times over. This time, you would completely understand your place. There would be no highs for you to ride, no sense of yourself for you to find, and no relief for you to relish in. This time, he would be your only comfort.

And he did love the idea of you relying on him and only him as he rubbed your sensitive nub to the edge over and over again through the night.


	6. Alucard: Escaped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alucard x Reader, in which you realize how pointless it had been to leave him.
> 
> Trigger warning for death and possessiveness.

You gasped as he slammed you against the wall on the far side of the room, feet dangling off the ground as he lifted you to his height. His hands were shaking with rage and you had never seen his crimson eyes more heated. The amused smirk on his lips had been replaced with a venomous simper that all but told you that the worst was yet to come to account for your defiance.  
His red coat danced in the winter breeze that swept through the depths of the tower. Your mortal blood felt cold, though he seemed to be just fine. It was haunting, the silence that came. You wanted so badly to explain yourself, to tell him that you hadn’t expected him to chase you as far as Canada, that you had wanted to find someone who showed you more affection. Nonetheless, you knew that informing him of anything other than a deep apology would be as unacceptable as how you had abandoned him.  
“I was going to ask you calmly why you ran from me,” he started. “But then, you acted foolishly.”  
“I was scared,” you panted. “I’m sorry.”  
When he had first appeared, after two months of being away from you, it had incited many emotions within your heart. Primarily, you had been terrified. It wasn’t often that he let his prey simply leave without completely mutilating them. You had fled from the Hellsing manor and your place by his side; you didn’t expect him to allow you to live after such. In a sorry attempt to preserve your life, you had tried to run away. You should have known, judging from the blood covering his white gloves, that there was no one left to help you from his wrath.  
“You’re sorry?” He smiled almost lovingly, then. “Ah, but I know you’re apologizing now because I have you in my grasp, darling.”  
“No, please,” you begged. “Please, hear me out.”  
He paused for a few moments before letting you down to stand on your own. He knew you couldn’t escape. There was no harm in leaving you to your devices for the time being.  
“I’m listening,” he replied.  
You dusted yourself off and exhaled, happy that he was at least willing to listen to what you had to say. He might still brush them off as mere excuses, but what mattered was that you said your peace.  
“I left because, well, you just seemed to be so occupied with Seras that I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” you explained, eyes downcast. “I thought it was your way of implicitly freeing me.”  
“So, that’s why you sought out another of my kind,” he mumbled, in a voice that indicated a soothing calm before the tumultuous storm. “Because you believed yourself to be a free woman.”  
You gulped. “I-”  
“Or could it be that you believed he was strong enough to stop me from claiming what is rightfully mine?”  
You shut your eyes abruptly, unsure of how to respond. That had absolutely been your intention, though what you had said prior remained to be true. Alucard had been spending a lot of time with his fledgling lately, even beyond missions. You weren’t sure, but you believed that they had been intimate once or twice when you hadn’t been around. It didn’t hurt necessarily - it merely made you feel inadequate. Over time, however, you realized that it might have been an invitation for you to leave. Alucard had barely bothered to tease, speak with, or touch you lately, indicating a lack of interest in some realm.  
But you had neglected to remember that he was also monstrously obsessive. You were still his, even if he didn’t give you the attention he normally did. Even if he chose to sleep with other people. He would never dismiss you. He would always keep you with him. This act of you leaving had been a heinous betrayal that had set him over the edge for months, something he would never tell you. It was enough to simply assert that you were little more than a sweet little human possession of his.  
“I’m so-”  
“Apologize again and I’ll rip your tongue out, my dear.” He stopped you.  
You nodded in understanding, reopening your eyes and electing to stay silent. It was clear that you wouldn’t be able to talk your way out of this one, even a little.  
“I’m taking you back,” he said.  
“Yes.”  
“You will make it up to me, but not with verbal apologies.”  
“Yes.”  
“Then, I’m going to turn you.”  
Your breath caught in your throat and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. He had never spoken much about changing you into one of his kind. In fact, he had made it a point to demand that you not to ask him, telling you that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to do such a thing. After many months of nothing, you had assumed that turning you was not in his plans. You must have really hurt his pride if he was now threatening you with it.  
“Did you hear me?” He asked when you didn’t reply, eyes narrowed and hands itching to grasp you again.  
You could do nothing. There was not a word you would utter that would make him change his mind, you knew. Fighting against him and defying him further would only increase his fury and serve to amuse him later. All he wanted presently was your obedience. You didn’t want to know what he would do if you refused to comply here.  
“…yes.”  
He smirked. “Good girl.”  
“Did you…?” You questioned suddenly, gesturing toward his bloody gloves.  
You had to know. The vampire you had sought out to shield you from Hellsing’s most magnificent weapon was strong. You had thought him to be a good match against Alucard at the time. Striking a deal with him - companionship for protection - had been pleasant while it had lasted. He hadn’t asked much of you and seemed to merely enjoy your presence. He had been a young vampire, perhaps around your age in appearance, though much older in actuality. It had likely been many years since he had conversed with one of his kind or a mortal. Thus, your time with him had been majorly respectful and calm. You hated to think of any harm befalling him despite already knowing his fate.  
“What?” He tilted his head to the side, feigning curiosity, and bringing up his gloves so you could see the freshness of the fluids caking them. “These?”  
“Did you kill him…?” You asked, hiding the sadness you felt.  
“Yes.” There was no hesitation in his voice.  
“Did he suffer?”  
“Yes.”  
“You didn’t have to do that.”  
“You would have met with the same fate, had you been anyone else,” he scoffed. “Besides, he believed himself to be greater than what he was; you know I despise worms.”  
“He wasn’t a-”  
And there you were, against the wall again, though this time held there by your neck. You coughed, arms flailing as you clawed at him to release you. If you had been granted your voice, you would have apologized for the umpteenth time and had your tongue ripped out.  
“I’m getting sick of hearing your concern for him, pet,” he snarled.  
It was a tone that you had never directed toward him before - him, your master. Instead, you occupied your time using it toward a lesser being. It was enough to make him unfurl at the seams, the ways in which your heart defied him. No matter what he did, only mind control would make you display your affection.  
But perhaps he had been too lenient with your training. Perhaps he would start paying a little more special attention to you. It was about time that he started preparing you to be a proper bride for him, whenever the time came for you to be turned.  
He lowered you down to your feet once again, watching with little sympathy as you dropping to your knees in a coughing fit. Any longer and he might have caused some serious damage. You were grateful to have been spared, though you were sure that would change with time.  
As he walked toward the exit, quite ready to trail you past the pile of waste he had transformed your protector into, he snickered into the night sky. You remained on your knees, taking deep breaths in and out, clutching your throat with wide, panicked orbs. When you didn’t follow immediately, he stopped at the doorway and cast you a dark glance over his shoulder. Without his yellow tinted glasses, he was all the more intimidating when he looked at you.  
Despite not having your bearings, you rose up unsteadily and limped after him. Your ankle burned from how you had been crushed against the wall. He might have sprained it, but you couldn’t risk telling him of how much it had hurt you. His face told you all you needed to know: he had liked harming you. He had liked the lack of a fight you had put up against him and your instant compliance that came with experiencing his aggression.  
“Hurry up,” he chided in a sickeningly playful tone. “Or else I won’t be able to wait until we arrive at the manor the begin your punishment, little one.”


	7. Alucard: Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alucard x Reader, in which you try to steal his blood but he's one step ahead of you.
> 
> Trigger warning for implied non-con/dub-con.

The punishment had been well worth it. If you had to endure being locked in a bright room that mimicked weak sunlight over and over again, you would have done so just to progress your plan.

It had been agonizing, your skin bubbling and your eyes aching during every second of the exposure. Unlike him, you weren’t strong enough to resist the sunlight. He hadn’t granted you the power to be able to withstand such a thing, likely because it would have greatly diminished the intensity of this punishment. He was a cruel master, but this would soon change. If you played your cards right, he would be your master no more after tonight.

You touched the vial of his blood that you had stowed away safely in your jacket pocket. You had obtained it by trapping him in a sneak attack, by you which you had orchestrated by telling him that Sir Integra commanded your presence at an old chapel east of the manor. You had managed to trick him because you had played a long, patient game.

Months ago, you had tried to escape. He had promptly captured you and forced you to promise yourself to him the same day, though not before roughing you up a bit. He had been prepared to use mind control as a means of keeping you in line permanently, or at least until he wanted you to give him the thrill of defiance. You had protested strongly, begging for him to give you one more chance.

“I’m a cruel master,” he had said. “But fortunately for you, my dear, I’m not unjust.”

And with that, he had allowed you your final chance. As a warning, he had told you that just one mistake would land you back in your prior position, and that there would be no further reasoning. You had understood clearly that this would be your final opportunity to escape, imploring yourself to hang on as you put your body and mind through hell.

The first week after the attempt had been the worst. The things he had demanded of you had been horrendous. Still, you had consented to them all with a small smile, displaying your nervousness and uncertainty through dainty movements and an anxious expression. He had bought it immediately, making sporadic comments about how much of a good girl you were being. It had been hard to stomach.

When the time finally came to enact your scheme, you had lured him to the aforementioned chapel. Once there, you had attacked him for the first time as a vampire. Slamming him against the stone walls of the structure had almost felt too good. Alas, even though you had magic and strength on your side, you had been no match for him. He had used his hypnosis to lull for you a moment while he caught up with you, having you on the ground beneath him in moments. He had influence over you like no other, after all; he was your master. So long as he had turned you, your essence would belong to him.

Or, would it?

You had found some information about how to crawl from the thumb of a master vampire in the Hellsing library one evening. According to the book, written by a member of the Helsing lineage, you could consume the blood of Alucard in order to escape from his influence. By doing this, you would become his equal.

Just before he had blindsided you in the last of the fight, you had managed to fill a small syringe with blood from his arm. It was just enough to be undetectable and just enough to free you.

Now, as you stood in front of the dresser, rolling the vial over in your hand, you glanced behind you briefly. You hadn’t seen him in a while - this wasn’t usually a good sign. The last thing you wanted was for him to emerge just before you consumed the blood.

It was now or never, in that case.

Unscrewing the top, you tipped your head back and took the fluid past your lips. It felt warm going down your throat, like juice. You had grown a taste for blood, so the metallic flavour didn’t bother you. What was concerning was the way your stomach was convulsing after pulling back from the vial. It felt as though it was going to erupt. Having never done a ritual such as this prior, you had no way of knowing if this was normal. From what you had read, the process was pretty well painless.

But the pain, abrupt and akin to being struck by lightning, made your hair stand on end. It brought you to your knees in a coughing fit, the glass vial shattering as it fell to the ground with you. Yellow, stick phlegm flew from your throat as you hacked, unable to breathe properly. Just as you were sure you would die of asphyxiation, that the book had brutally lied to you, all of the symptoms ceased.

You felt a warm, serene energy caress your mind and bring your body into a state of tranquility. Moaning as you spat bloody saliva to the floor, you let yourself be taken from reality for a time. Your eyes fell a few times, but you refused to give into rest. You had to be on guard. There was little time for recovery.

“Ah, I thought as much.”

The voice of your former master snapped you awake, your head jolting upward pathetically to meet his grin. This wasn’t good. Did he realize what you had done yet?

“A-Aluca-”

“Silence.”

You abided by his wish, wanting to see what he would do next. You were starting to feel a new sort of power seep through you. If you waited just a little longer, you would be able to fight him using this prowess.

He hummed as he analyzed your state. He didn’t seem too disturbed, which was normal for his calloused personality. He removed his glasses and hat, tossing them to the side. Immediately, you could feel the pull of his deep red eyes. He called to you wordlessly as he stared, making your head pang.

Did the blood take a few days to free you? Why wasn’t it working? Why were you still do drawn to him? You averted your gaze, panting like you had just run for miles. You were in more danger than you had ever been in before.

“Look at me, (f/n),” he commanded. “Did you think I wouldn’t know?”

You brought your head up hesitantly. Of course you did. You had even gone out of your way to put up a barrier to protect your thoughts, one that you would feel him penetrating just before he took control. He hadn’t probed you since the escape. How had he known of your scheme?

“I have eyes everywhere,” he said emotionlessly. “And you’re not as strong as you think, darling; that barrier was simple to bypass.”

“What did I consume, then?” You wheezed. “It wasn’t your blood.”

He shook his head with a small smirk, and you couldn’t tell if he was content or furious. All you knew was that something was circulating through your system and these could be your last moments alive. He had always threatened to kill you if you ever got too out of line. That way, he could have you forever in his cold, twisted heart. Killing with such simplicity you would be an accurate display of his ownership over you.

“Non-lethal poison,” he muttered. “That was your last chance and you squandered it.”

“Oh, god,” you seethed, enraged that you had trusted yourself far too much. “You were right when you said you were a cruel master.”

Your cockiness was what has landed you in this position, and as he had mentioned, this had been your final chance to earn his favour. Even despite all of the prep work you had done, he had played you yet again. It was impossible to win. He would never allow you to usurp him.

He cackled as you slipped into unconsciousness, feeling bile rise in your throat. It was a disgusting laugh that made your skin prickle. You didn’t want to go under. He would surely perform the worst acts imaginable on your body while you slept, only to tell you of them all when you eventually stirred.

“We’ll continue with the rest of the lesson when you awaken,” you heard him whisper as he picked you up from the floor.

The perception of gravity left you and your head fell backwards. You wondered where you would be when you woke up. Would it be the sun room again or somewhere far worse? The dark ideas that seam through his head were infinite, you knew.

Truly, you should have known better than to think you could outsmart a being who had been around centuries longer than you. Now, you would pay the price.


	8. Anderson: Mouse I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anderson x Reader, in which you realize too late that you need to be weary of the paladin.
> 
> Trigger warning for implied non-con/dub-con, possessiveness.
> 
> Forgive the tumblr bullet-point format, here!

> When he first meets you, Alexander Anderson was speechless for once. A mere mortal with no spectacular abilities other than your excellent marksmanship, he doesn’t understand how you were able to hit him from so far away. He hadn’t even detected you until the silenced shot came, embedding itself in his torso. You hadn’t actually damaged him, of course; it hadn’t been anything he couldn’t heal. Nonetheless, it was difficult for him to refrain from thinking about you for some time after this.

> He wouldn’t have even learned your name until the second encounter, when you attempted to shoot him a second time. He had been attacking Alucard’s little fledgling whore when you had made your appearance, admittedly stealthily, on a nearby roof. Rather than focusing on his battle, as he normally would have, he had dashed into the abandoned building to confront you. Of course, the little mouse that you were, you immediately went into hiding upon seeing that you were his true target. With Seras far too injured to save you, he saw this as a fine opportunity to meet you in the flesh.

\----

“Come on out, lass!” He shouted, insanity plastered across his masculine visage and his bayonets clutched readily at his sides. “Let me meet the woman who managed to get a shot on me!”

You covered your mouth as you hid beneath the long banquet table near the top floor of the dark, creaky building. You hadn’t had much time. If you had jumped, you would have run into Iscariot soldiers awaiting your fall. However, you weren’t sure what the lesser evil was at this point. The man stalking you was probably more dangerous or just as dangerous as Alucard.

You pressed your sniper rifle close to your chest and quieted your breathing as you heard footsteps near the room you had stashed yourself away in. The footfalls were heavy and dreadful, your heart leaping to your throat. For a moment, you wished that you had never shot the man, though you realized this was your cowardice talking. You had signed up to kill supernatural beings who threatened the peace of humanity, as well as those who were corrupted by such. You couldn’t relent on your choices due to fear.

It was a fact that he knew where you were. There was nothing much in the room, nowhere else you could have hidden. If you were lucky, you would be overlooked, presumed to have fled from the nearby open window. Your heart dropped when his feet stopped at the centre of the table. There was silence for a few solid minutes and it was terrible. You wanted him to either find you or leave, not play mind games.

“Y'know, girl,” he muttered, shifting to face the table. “Great warriors deserve to die great deaths, but not you. Not here.”

You nearly gasped. What was he playing at, you wondered. Why wasn’t he yanking off the tablecloth that adorned your hiding place and stabbing you through the heart with one foul jab?

“He said, Fear not, for I am with you, be not dismayed, for I am your God,” His feet shifted one more time toward the door. “I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my victorious right hand.”

You recognized it as Isaiah 41:10. You had heard it once before from a man talking to himself on the street. It was an ominous omen of this exact moment and what was to come for you.

As he walked out of the room, a small smile was plastered onto his face. It was pleasant, unlike his former simper, because he had just determined his purpose. God had just whispered to him what he had to deliver, and it was you. His Lord wanted him to have you. He could wait to claim you, but just barely.

\----

> After that evening, you would be consumed with the quote. You would do your research on it and discuss it with your comrades. Eventually, having nowhere else to go, you would have no choice but to ask a Catholic priest for advice. They would recommend that you attend a service during the coming Sunday, to which you begrudgingly told yourself you would.  
> You wouldn’t expect the service to be given by Anderson. There he would be, at the front of the room in dark robes, delivering the sermon with a wide grin. The facial expression he had would be serene and calm, unlike the one he wore in battle. You would be shook but forced to maintain your composure. You would hide your shock like a champ though it wouldn’t quite be enough for him not to notice your discomfort. Despite your disguise, he would see through it all.

\----

“Was the service not to your liking?” A voice boomed from over your shoulder as you tried to scurry away before you were singled out.

Too late.

There he was, in all his glory, standing but a metre away. His eyes didn’t tell you what he knew, that you were the little mouse who had enticed him since the first shot. You assumed that he was just making casual conversation with a new member.

“It was,” you replied carefully, using the first excuse that crossed your racing mind. “I just didn’t expect a man like you to, uh, be teaching others about the word of God.”

He laughed joyfully, another new side of him. “A man like me, lass? I’m no different than any other.”

What a lie that was. Nonetheless, you nodded slowly, averting your eyes. You had to be cautious with your wording. You couldn’t slip up.

“You know, someone so young and…” You struggled to not proclaim anything about his battle prowess or utter madness.

“And?”

You bit your lower lip, a feature that was unknowingly unbearable to him. You were putting on such a good facade that he was beginning to believe you. His hands itched to snatch you up and take you to the back room, renounce his God and his purity, and bend you over his desk. Willing or not, gagged or otherwise, he wanted to fuck you. You tempted him an unholy amount.

“Attractive.” You breathed finally.

With that, you fled the scene, picking up the long, conservative dress you had elected to wear as you went. You didn’t want to believe that you meant that. You didn’t want to think about a member of a conflicting organization - the same man who had killed many of your comrades - as attractive, even if he was. This visit to the church ended up leaving you with far more questions than you initially had.

Anderson watched after you, making no move to follow. His glasses shadowed the horrid look in his eyes as he fantasized about what he would do when he was finally allowed to have you. It would have been so easy for him to have plucked you away right now. With a heavy heart, he sighed and turned back to the podium. It wouldn’t be long now.

\----

> You would spend a lot of time by yourself, isolated from the others, after the church event. There would be a lot for you to process and you wouldn’t want anyone thinking you were trying to betray Hellsing. You didn’t want to serve anyone but Integra, even if Alucard was grotesque and irritating during missions.

> You would exit the estate one evening to go for a walk. Guess who you would encounter after spending a good few minutes at the bridge near the church?

\----

“Is that my little mouse?” His voice slithered all the way up your spine and into your ears as you tensed, leaning over the side of the bridge.

Heavy footsteps clacked aggressively against the cobblestone walkway, and it wasn’t until he was but a few metres away that you were finally able to move. You didn’t try to pull out the gun you had hidden in your jacket, in case he was there to greet you as a new member of the church. You wanted to keep your disguise for as long as fate would allow you. Much to your perceived fortune, there was no sign of recognition beyond who you had briefly showed him you were after the sermon. You smiled naturally as he emerged from the shadows.

“Good evening, Father Anderson,” you greeted cordially. “I didn’t think you would remember me.”

He chuckled lightly. “How could I forget such a fetching young lady? Especially one with so much hidden talent.”

You froze, suddenly realizing that you hadn’t managed to hide your identity from the sadistic priest. Before you could even think to run, he had his hands clasped tightly around your neck, slamming your head painfully against the stone bridge as you struggled to escape. The air depleting from your lungs, you reached for the gun beneath your coat, grasped the handle, aimed as best you could, and fired. The way his head snapped back as the bullet penetrated his chin and zipped out of the top of his skull made you want to vomit. Killing someone this way up close was not pretty. Alas, the image didn’t remain for long.

With a spark of electricity, the hole closed in on itself, regenerating him from the inside-out as he twisted his head back down at you. He was grinning from ear to ear, nearly drooling at the prospect of having you in such a vulnerable position. His hands never lost their hardened grip through it all, still restricting your airflow to a great degree. As white dots appeared in your peripherals, your lips flapped open and closed as you silently begged him to release you.

“You feel so good, dying in my hands,” he purred, lips against your ear as he squeezed. “Better than I thought!”

As your vision faded, you managed a hard slap across his face. His manic laughter brought you into slumber, your mind and heart heavy with regret.

\----

> His goal would not have been to kill you. You would release you as soon as you slipped into unconsciousness, praying to his God that he hadn’t caused any brain damage; you had taken quite a while to go under.

> He would hide you beneath his church, in an old dungeon that had been used to torture and kill vampires and witches back in the old days. He would chain you to the wall, clamping you down in the shape of a star so that he could have full access to your form. This would serve him well for both torturous purposes, as he knew he would still have to extract information from you, and other deeds that he would no doubt perform with you. Cutting off your clothes and stuffing a gag in your mouth, he would wait patiently for you to rouse in such a humiliating position. He believed humilitation to be an exceptional punishment and an adequate way to change behaviour over time. This is what made his so despicable, you soon realized.

> When he finally comprehended that he was obsessed with you, it wouldn’t matter much. There would be no internal crisis on his part. He had never felt so great before in his life and if you were the secret to such, he would gladly keep you around for as long as you served this divine purpose. He already knew that you were meant for him the moment he laid eyes on your silhouette.

> He would treat you nicely in public, but in private he was akin to a biblical demon. His teasing would border on harsh bullying and his physicality would be forceful and brutal. There would be moments where you saw the true man of God he might have been at some point in his life, but these times would be few and far in between.

> If the church allowed him to marry, he would gladly marry you. You would be the perfect little wife of a priest, meanwhile renouncing Hellsing and siding with Iscariot. It would be painful, but the only way to force Anderson to ease up on his infiltrations of the manor. You would still want to protect your former comrades, even if they found your traitorous.

> If you ever tried to communicate with anyone from Hellsing, Anderson would see to it that his precious little wife was confined to her room for at least a month, with only his occasional appearance to occupy her time. Minimal food and water would be served so that you would understand just how hard he worked to keep the two of you comfortable. This would teach you not to go behind his back.

> He would often prod at you for being so stupid as to believe you could escape from him, and even try to trick him in the very beginning of your encounters. His goal would be to tear you down so that he could eventually build you up into magnificence. He would want to model you after the wife he imagined you to be. The words would sting after a while, with no positive reinforcement from anyone else, it would get increasingly difficult to combat the negativity. Soon, you wouldn’t even recognize that you were changing; it would just happen. And that would be that.


	9. Anderson: Mouse II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slight NSFW below.
> 
> Anderson x Reader, in which you become pregnant.
> 
> Trigger warning for non-con.

“Well, now,” Anderson said lowly, his large hands cupping your bare shoulders gingerly. “Would you look at that?”

You were looking at it all right. You were looking at it with wide eyes and tears. You hadn’t been able to stop shaking since you had skipped menstruation last month. It was only when you started getting nauseous, either from anxiety of certain changes to your body, that he had allowed you to test for pregnancy. Now, your worst nightmare was confirmed. The test indicated that you were positive.

“I need to test again,” you asserted, voice raw and robotic. “Please.”

He laughed that same sadistic laugh he had emitted upon capturing you, his precious little sniper, for the first time. It was sick and terrible, just like him and his intentions. You would have rather carried a vampire’s child than his.

“Do you feel blessed, lass?” He asked, squeezing your shoulders harder. “You have my child inside of you; a miracle baby.”

You hated to say that you had anticipated this. A man of God, he didn’t believe in contraception. Every time he had forced himself on you or coaxed you into complying, he had always entered bare. He never pulled out, either. He claimed initially that he wasn’t able to conceive. That had evidently been a false statement.

You wanted to throw yourself from the window now, to ensure that you ended both your own life and the child’s. You didn’t want to know what Anderson would be like as a birth father. Would his treatment toward the child mimick his harsh treatment toward you? Would he start training the child to be a killer immediately? Worse, would he teach the child that his abuse toward you was okay? There were far too many risks to the birth.

Nonetheless, he wouldn’t allow you to take your life. He wouldn’t allow you to do anything that involved forfeiting the life of his baby. Abortion was completely out of the question and he would no doubt decimate you in the instance of a miscarriage. You could nothing but sob uncontrollably in his arms, as he grasped you in a tight embrace from behind. If you tried really hard, you could pretend that he was someone else, that it was okay to receive affection in his grip.

“I hope those are tears of happiness, my dear,” he uttered in the same sweet tone he used during service. “I can’t hit you anymore, but there are other ways to discipline an unruly little whore.”

You gasped. You wanted to tell him to shove his punishments and hug yourself to sleep as you bawled. You wanted to push him away and fold in on yourself; anything to make all of this go away. Instead, you complied with exactly what he wanted. You couldn’t take any more abuse today - not after this.

“I-I’m happy…!” You cried. “Father, I’m so happy to be having your child…!”

He smiled genuinely down at you, pressing a kiss against your forehead. His coarse facial hair jabbed at your skin as he lingered, savouring that you were his. Then, he shifted across the room. He could tend to his wife later. For now, he had a sermon to perform and news of a child to share with the counsel. There would be more time for celebration tonight.

“That’s a good girl,” he muttered contentedly as he opened the door and straightened his collar. “Have dinner ready by five, now.”

You nodded, face wet and feeling as uncomfortable as your soul was. “Yes, Father. Have a good afternoon.”

You knew the repercussions of not having his dinner ready and heated on time. There was always a vague threat behind his words. You had only had eight months to learn them but you were getting there.

When he got home from work, he had a routine. He would expect you to greet him promptly at the door. Then, he would spend five minutes in the washroom freshening up and “washing off the sins” of the day. This would give you time to plate the food and have it served by the time he emerged. You would allow him to finish eating his meal before you started eating your own plate. The reason had been rooted in old, sexist ideals that you didn’t quite understand, but had to obey. If anything was out of order or not to his liking, he exacted a magnificent punishment.

Before the child, there would be slaps and physical shaking. There were times where he had thrown you to the ground, only to climb atop you, throw your legs over his shoulders, and have his way with you on the kitchen floor. This was likely one of the main reasons he only let you wear dresses - easy access.

It made your skin crawl to think of how the child had been conceived. How would you react to it when it came out? Would you still love it like your own, even if it looked like Anderson? You thought you would. Perhaps you would even have the chance to raise it right. Moreover, perhaps one of these days, Alucard would finally kill Anderson and you would be free.

Now that was a nice thought.


	10. Anderson: Mouse III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anderson x Reader, in which Anderson doesn't like that the gender of his child is female.
> 
> Trigger warning for implied non-con, infanticide.

You shuddered as the doctor passed you the results of your ultrasound. Beside you, your husband stood proudly, chattering pleasantly with the nurse. Even despite his cheerful mood, the grip he had on your shoulder was still a reminder that you had better behave.

Since the news of the pregnancy, you had been a little more unruly. Not wanting to harm the baby, Anderson had settled on discipling your backside, among other things. At first, it had been a relief; you had been happy to have a break from the brutal assaults and threats. Then, he started getting more creativity with his strikes. Instead of his hand, he sometimes elected to use a paddle or a cane. If neither of those were available, he would use his belt. If you had managed to hide that, too, he would snap a leg from one of the dining chairs and use that. Oftentimes, it would leave you screaming and begging for him to stop. He would have to gag you halfway through the punishment to ensure none of the neighbours heard; he didn’t want any rumors started. You had already tried to come clean about your situation to the man next door, inciting whisperings about how you were a flighty wife.

You hadn’t expected the residents to twist your words so carelessly. No one ever believed you when you tried to tell them. They couldn’t possibly believe that their priest could be capable of such abuse.

“Mrs Anderson?” The doctor brought you back to reality. “Are you ready to reveal the gender?”

You gulped but nodded. You prayed that it would be a boy. Anderson only ever spoke as if it was a boy. You didn’t want to know what would happen if it turned out to be a girl. You wondered if he would even want it. A girl, in his eyes, couldn’t pass on his legacy or be trained as a male. A girl would only cost him more money and effort for little reward.

You took a deep breath as the doctor motioned for you to open the envelope.

“A-Are you ready, Father?” You asked softly, gazing up at home only for a moment before you felt your eyes burn with anxious tears.

He smiled like the fake holy man he was. “Yes, my dear.”

You did as you were told, tearing it along the line and fishing out the piece of paper within. Turning it over, your eyes honed in on the word girl. Your heart dropped.

You wanted to ball up the paper and toss it out the window. Sure, you would be punished for it later, but it might save your daughter in the meantime. Hell, it might save you in the meantime. Alas, you knew his reading was quicker than yours; it had to be from reciting verses so often.

“A girl, eh?” You heard him whisper, and you didn’t like how low his tone was.

“Congratulations!” The nurse cheered.

“Yes, your first little girl,” the doctor beemed, clapping her hands excitedly. “You must be thrilled!”

Your mouth was dry and your eyes watered. Even still, you managed a small nod. The practitioners brushed your meek response off as nerves, commenting on how Father Anderson had truly found the definition of a modest, blushing bride. The way his fingers tightened around your shoulder told you that he wasn’t buying your reaction, that you needed to put more effort into it before he did it for you.

“I-I’m so happy!” You said, tears rolling down your cheeks. “I’ve always wanted to be a mother!”

“And this is only our first,” Anderson declared slyly, making you pale.

“Oh, you plan to try for more?” The nurse cooed, glancing at you. “What a lucky woman you are, (f/n).”

You wanted to laugh and tell her to walk in your shoes for a day - just one day. If everyone saw the eggshells you had to tread upon to not upset your husband, they would change their mind about the endearing priest.

“Father Anderson is the perfect husband,” you stated, as if reading from a script. “I can’t imagine ever being with someone else.”

He hadn’t instructed you to say these words, but you had said then prior. Anytime someone remarked on how fortunate you were to be his wife, this was the only thing that came to mind. There was no use saying otherwise; you would spare yourself the torture. It was best just to please him wherever you thought you could. If all went as you wanted it to, he would leave you be tonight for that one; he would believe that you wanted to be a gracious, obedient wife and reward you.

“Isn’t that sweet?” The doctor smiled as you stood up and allowed your husband to walk you out of the office.

“Thank you for everything!” You called back to them.

“Good day to you, ladies!” Anderson chimed in, tone falsely sweet. “See you soon, now.”

It wasn’t until the two of you were well out of sight that he shot you the most horrifying looks you had ever seen. At that point, you knew that you weren’t going to be keep the child in your womb. You knew that he would steal that from you, too. He would make it look like an accident, no doubt; he would make it appear as though he had slipped down the stairs or fallen while home alone. Nothing you said would be construed as the truth; no one would believe that he was gendercidal.

You started hyperventilating as he led you down the dim streets and back to the apartment. You clutched his jacket as he hugged you close to his torso, the dark smirk on his face never leaving as you sobbed uncontrollably into his chest while keeping his pace. He wouldn’t let you stop or sink to your knees. He wouldn’t allow you the comfort of his gentle touch or reassurance. As far as he was concerned, you had betrayed him yet again. You wouldn’t provide him with a son, and thus you would be punished until you did.

“Please, Father,” you whispered, voice mousy. “Please, please, please, don’t make me lose her.”

He chuckled as he removed the keys of the residence from his jacket pocket. You gazed back at the stairs that were so close behind you. He could easily toss you down them. There were people home. They would hear the crash and the shout he would no doubt emit. They would come running and find you and on your swollen stomach, coughing and bleeding. Your grip tightened on his arm as he led you into the apartment.

He closed the door behind you and you took that moment to rush toward the living area. It was a small apartment. The living area was directly in front of the doorway. Off to the side was a kitchenette and small dining area. In the very back area was a washroom and a rather large master bedroom. There weren’t many places to hide and you sure as hell couldn’t run.

He simply stared at you as you distanced yourself, taking off his jacket and hanging it on its designated hook. Then, he started toward you.

“Please, let me keep her,” you begged, backing up further. “Please - she can help us raise the next one.”

His face lit up at that. “I’m glad you know that you’ll be having more than one, lass.”

“O-of course, Father,” you stammered compliantly.

“We’ll just have to be careful next time.”

“No,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“We wouldn’t want another mistake.”

“No, please. Father, please.”

He grasped your wrist and pulled you close before you could scramble any further away from him. Dragging you toward the front door, he contemplated ripping it open and tossing you down. You would surely lose the child then. However, what you had said about this child helping to raise his son had clicked with him. You were correct. Perhaps it would be best to keep this girl as a sort of servant to his true heir. She would still be his daughter, but she would know her place in the family hierarchy, much like her mother.

“Do you think it was God’s will to impregnate you?” He inquired suddenly.

You nodded, knowing religion was one of the only means into this man’s twisted mind. You could use his faith to appeal to him. He wanted to frame the baby as a sort of sacrifice to God, but you wouldn’t allow this.

“Yes, Fa- uh, yes… Alexander.”

Your use of his full name was an utter shock to him. He had instructed you to call him Father in public, as a sign of respect for his profession and servitude. It had happened to carry over to daily life over time. He had never complained about it but perhaps he should have. The way you said his name absolutely lit his loins on fire. He looked at the hallway that led to the bedroom and started to drag you there instead.

“Then we should celebrate,” he replied, entrapping you yet again. “To having our first child.”

You knew where this was going. You knew what celebrating meant. It wasn’t a party or gathered of people - it was a way for him to take advantage of you under the guise of love. It was a way for him to be a predator without facing this part of himself. It was one of many ways in which you lost a piece of yourself, every single time he did it.

“Yes,” you breathed hopelessly.

As he picked you up and placed you on the large mattress, you shut your eyes and prayed that his decision to keep the girl would stick. If this was what it took, then you would compliantly make the sacrifice for the life of your daughter.


	11. "You always do this." -Anderson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anderson x Reader, in which you hate the man beyond belief but he really sort of wants you to love the monster within him.
> 
> Trigger warning for abuse, non-con/dub-con.
> 
> Prompt: "You always do this. Pull away when I get close.”

He wasn’t always aggressive; sometimes, he was quite sweet. This only served to further disorient and confuse you, though. Perhaps that was his grand scheme and sure-fire way to shatter you once and for all. If nothing else, Father Anderson certainly had patience.

When he came home that afternoon, an hour earlier than usual, it had struck fear into your heart. You weren’t nearly done making dinner and the table wasn’t even clean. He kept strict standards under his roof. Even if it was unrealistic, his only goal was to break you. As such, you had been sure he would go berserk when he approached you after hanging up his heavy jacket. Instead, he had embraced you. His large hand had held your head against his chest while his other arm had encircled your torso.

It had been such a normal gesture. It had almost made you feel safe - almost. You hadn’t allowed yourself to be absorbed in that moment.

Maybe he noticed and didn’t say anything then. Maybe he noticed and waited to bring it up, just so he could have the satisfaction of punishing you.

Holy men were supposed to be good; your mother had told you that at a young age. You had clung to this ideal for two decades, finding solace in God at your darkest hours. You had placed your trust in priests without batting an eye. It had been a rude awakening when Father Anderson, someone who was meant to be a friend and confidant of the community, had come to take you away from your family and friends in Ireland.

He had offered your parents too much for them to have denied his request. You didn’t blame them, even though you wanted to point fingers as a way to quell your suffering. You didn’t blame them. He had put on such a good disguise for them.

“Th-the Catholic church is giving us ten grand!?” Your father had sputtered.

“What did we ever do to deserve such generosity?” Your mother had sobbed, covering her mouth with a quivering hand.

The land was dying. The soil was poor and the taxes were high. There was a famine at work and your family had been concerned about survival. The be given such a gift had ignited hopefulness within them.

The blonde priest had smiled warmly. “I ask ye for nothin’ more than yer wee daughter.”

Your eyes had widened, as you had only met Father Anderson a handful of times at service. He hadn’t seemed to be interested in you at all, nor had you been interested in him. You hadn’t even believed that priests could get married.

“M-me?” You had asked stupidly, unsure of what else to say.

“That’s right, lass,” he had said. “Yer devoted to Jesus Christ and yer quite the pretty maid. I would be happy to have you as my wife.”

You had glanced at your parents, weary of this confession. There had been a dark glint in his eyes, one that chilled you. You had known he was hiding something about his nature.

“Uh, can we… Can we think about this?” Your father had stammered. “Please - just a day.”

The priest had been understanding, giving your family two days to decide before he returned. It had been a gruelling decision on your parents’ part. They had even asked you what you wanted. Being as selfless as you were, of course, you had told them the truth of the situation.

“I’m not opposed to it, but I am nervous of his intentions,” you had sighed.

Your mother, a kind, caring creature at heart, had rubbed your back affectionately. “You have nothing to be afraid of, dear; he’s a Christian man.”

“Yes, but it is strange, isn’t it?” Your father had reasoned cautiously. “He’s barely spoken a word to her.”

But your mother had smiled confidently, completely sold on the seemingly gentle man. “I’m sure that God directed him to do this. He didn’t have to know our (f/n) to be drawn to her.”

When Father Anderson had returned, your mother had been the one to tell him the arrangement. She had also told him to treat her only daughter well. You loved your mom, but that hadn’t been a shining moment for her.

“That’s excellent news!” He had exclaimed with that same sardonic smile. “I know He will smile down upon yer family for makin’ this decision. I’ll pray for ye.”

Your father had patted your back. “We’ll visit you, (f/n).”

But they never did.

And it wasn’t because they didn’t care about you.

On the contrary, the priest had promptly moved you out of dear Ireland and back with him to England. He had explained that he no longer practiced in Ireland, and that the reason behind his sudden confession to your family had been due to pressure for him to relocate. At the time, it had made sense to you, but you wondered why he hadn’t told your parents. Surely they wouldn’t have changed their mind knowing you would be further from them; that look in your mother’s eyes as she imagined you marrying a holy man had been too star-struck for them to have backed down due to distance.

You could hear her now: “England will give you more opportunities. Father Anderson will take care of you there.”

Despite sending out invitations to your friends and family, which Father Anderson had taken the liberty of mailing out, none of your relations came to your wedding. The ceremony had been short notice upon arrival to the country, but you had still expected your parents to show up. It had been a bittersweet day. Many of his friends and colleagues came to congratulate the two of you, but it didn’t hold the same meaning. Nonetheless, you had some your best to smile and fake it.

“Do you, (f/n) (l/n), take Alexander Anderson to be your lawfully wedded husband to obey, serve, and comfort until the end of your days?”

Standing at the alter, you had hesitated. The script had been off. Had it been altered?

“Uh, y-yes. l-I mean, I do.”

“And do you, Alexander Anderson, take (f/n) (l/n) to be your lawfully wedded wife, ‘til death do you part?”

You had noticed that his statement was shorter, with less rules. You had thought it was perhaps just the misogynistic views of the church regarding the roles of men and women.

“I do.” He had drawled with a grin, staring down at you. “'til death do us part.”

The ceremony and reception had gone off without a hitch. You had mingled with your new husband, clinging to his arm as he went around and greeted all his guests. Some of the people present appeared to be mercenary-like, though you had dismissed this upon thinking of the circumstances. Why would a priest be affiliated with such inidividuals?

When it finally came time for the wedding night, all of your earlier skeptical thoughts and red flags were brought to light.

He had been expectant and rough, though you still weren’t sure why. You had allowed him access to you, knowing that you would have to at some point, anyways. You had even tried to reciprocate a little, given that he was your husband. Nonetheless, he had restrained you while pounding into your virgin body, not stopping to check in or move slowly for your sake. He had growled peculiar, predatorial things whilst relieving himself inside you.

“Yer finally mine.”

“I’ve been waitin’ for this, lass.”

“I can’t wait to do this every night of my life.”

They hadn’t been words of a lover, whispered in the heat of the moment. His voice had been strained, as if he had waited to say these things to you. You wondered what your parents would have thought, had he given them a glimpse of this alter ego. They might not have agreed to his deal, had they known he was a monster.

His treatment got worse the more you disobeyed or forgot his rules. His goal was to make you into his perfect wife. He had some sort of image in his head that he wanted you to fit, having watched you for so long. He longed for the woman he thought you to be, not the woman you truly were.

If you accidentally dropped a glass or plate, shivering with fear as his beautiful eyes watched your every move, he would backhand you and tell you to be more careful. If you went out without him or without his permission, he would wait for you to come home and then ravage you for leaving. You had learned that it was better just to ask what he wanted, rather than attempt to live your life.

The physical aggression had only started because you had slapped him one evening. He had slipped his hand up your dress and grabbed you, startling you from behind. On reflex and because a part of you hadn’t wanted it, you had turned around and hit him. He had stood there a few minutes, eyes downcast and cheek red. You hadn’t even started to apologize when he had gripped your hair and thrown you to the ground.

It had been a terrible night, and the days remained pretty much the same from there.

So, that’s why when he came home that afternoon with the intention of giving you a hug, you had been skeptical of his behaviour. It didn’t fit the Alexander Anderson that you knew. Furthermore, you couldn’t buy into it with the treatment you had endured. You could never love him the way he wanted you to. He had to know that, somewhere in his heart.

“You always do this,” he murmured into your hair, but you barely recognized his weakened voice. “Pull away when I get close.”

You were stunned. What was he talking about? You were submissive in nature, lest you were a glutton for punishment some days.

“What are you afraid of, lettin’ your husband have yer heart?”

It was as if he had forgotten the abuse he had put you through these last several months. This person embracing you was not the Father Anderson you had learned to obey out of terror. What was he playing at with this charade? You couldn’t perceive that he had experienced some sort of epiphany. Whenever he hit or degraded you, he always told you why he had acted in such a way so matter-of-factly. He had justified the pain in his head.

Maybe this was just the way most holy men worked. Maybe your mother had been horribly mistaken.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered instead of all the other nasty thoughts in your head. “I’m still getting used to marriage.”

Your words were hollow, as they usually were. You didn’t mean them. They were merely the only words he would accept.


	12. "Killing for you is my favourite hobby." -Alucard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alucard x Reader, wherein you listen to the vampire muse as usual.
> 
> Prompt: "Killing for you is my favourite hobby."

"I've killed many men in life and death."

And this was how conversation after a major battle always started. He would drone on and on about how he had been the harbinger of demise and deceit for mortals as a man and vampire. He would tell you how powerful he was, and how much he had grown in strength over the centuries. He would do all this both to scare and show you how much he cared for you.

You weren't sure if he loved you. Maybe if he had been a human, his cold heart would have been capable of such. As a creature of the night, though, could he even feel the emotions that came with love and lust? It was doubtful. You thought he kept you around to maintain normalcy, at this point; normalcy and possessiveness. He was still completely obsessed with you, even if he wasn't in love with you. It was the oddest, most dangerous predicament you had ever found yourself in. Still, you listened attentively to the beast sing praises of himself and his actions. Angering him only gave you heinous repercussions.

He would never let you go. He would never let you escape. He would never allow you to live a normal mortal life now that you had enticed him so.

"None have been able to truly defeat me," he mused, as you tried not to roll your eyes. "Helsing did the next best thing and domesticated me like a dog."

This cocky, calculative monster sure knew how to talk. You wanted him to just get to the point and leave you be, let you go home and rest in your shared bed. You hadn't even wanted to embark on this mission today, and you weren't even sure why you had. Alucard had killed all of the ghouls with a few shots of his gun, taking down the master vampire the same as usual. You hadn't even served a purpose.

"All the men, women, and children I've killed - excitement sparked through my being," he said then, his words making you shudder.

You couldn't imagine gloating about harming others, even for revenge purposes. You had grown out of that stuff long ago. Yes, violence was sometimes necessary, but you would never speak so boastfully about your killings. It was as if they weren't even living creatures to him, his opponents; maybe they weren't.

He turned to you finally, instead of staring up at the full moon any longer. It was a lovely night. The autumn breeze tickled your exposed skin and the leaves of the surrounding forest crackled as they blew. Had you not been with him, you might have actually enjoyed your time out here.

You returned his stare as he rose a gloved hand to stroke your cheek. You allowed it to happen, as you always did now, closing your eyes and giving into his touch. It felt better when you could imagine it was someone else, someone who actually loved you.

"But, little one, **killing for you is my favourite hobby** , now," he murmured thoughtfully, gently playing with your hair. "The enjoyment I get from maiming fools who dare to glance just once at my queen can be compared to no other!"

Your eyes snapped open as he captured your lips with his own, as if to convince you of his words. You didn't not believe them, of course; you knew that he never spoke lies when it came to how he felt about you. He wasn't one for sparing feelings. It unsettled you to know that he killed in your name. It unsettled you to know that he gained gratification from hurting. He _was_ a vampire, though; it was expected.

You groaned against his lips as his fangs nipped at your tongue. Yes, possessive was a good way to describe his behaviour toward you. Not love - obsession.

You refused to believe otherwise.


	13. Maxwell: Unique I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an intense piece!  
> Trigger warning for abuse, manipulation.
> 
> Enrico Maxwell (Iscariot) x Reader with slight Anderson x Reader, wherein you're a nun that dared to defect from the Catholic church and he's oh so fixated on breaking you.  
> 1 / 5

He was a man with a goal. If they wanted to call him power hungry, then so be it. Only God could judge him for his behaviours during life. Not a judge and jury. Not even paladin Anderson, who had raised him from s young age. Indeed, he heeded the advice of none but himself, abiding by the holy word of Jesus.

God had wanted him to plot a scheme that would wipe out the Nazis and the filthy Protestants.

God had willed him to unleash Anderson upon his rival organization, Hellsing, killing all in his path so that the rule of his Iscariot would be known.

God had also placed a confusing, silly woman like yourself in his path, presumably so that he could help you see a higher, more divine light. There was always work to be done on imperfect inidividuals such as yourself, after all. Even _he_ had had to put quite a bit of effort into reframing himself upon his climb through the ranks of the Catholic church. There was no one better than he to guide you. There was no one on this Earth who could help you more than he.

When he first met you, you were a devout nun. Daily, you had covered your body with the traditional habit of a black tunic accented by a white cincture and coif. You had said your prayers nightly at your bedside and conducted the typical matronly duties of a nun, such as tidying up, chanting during prayer, and writing scriptures. You had been ideal for the church. He hadn’t spoken to you often, just on occasions where he needed instruction or confirmation regarding some religious event. Alas, it had certainly surprised him when he was told you had defected.

Of course, one who was tied so deeply to the dark underpinnings of the church could not be allowed to roam free. The day you left, you were dragged back by paladin Anderson, himself. He had roughed you up quite a deal, as per his orders. To see your face puffy from the hits and your tears had been something else. He had expected himself to enjoy it that much. He found amusement in the idea of torturing and killing traitors, but beating them within an inch of their life and dragging them back to their church? It was _deliciously_ sadistic. If his God was watching, he knew, without a doubted, that He would be proud of his recent actions.

You were locked in a cell for days without food and only minimal water. You were watched over by a couple of raunchy guards, further plummeting you into a depression… or so he thought. The torture began rather shortly after your arrival. He had insisted on leading it, for whatever reason. He didn’t involve himself much with politics, but there had been something about your case that intrigued him.

He had sat you across from him at a jaded, splinter-ridden table, making sure that the guards were close by should anything abnormal occur. You had been dressed in a short brown tunic that barely covered all of you. Your hair was an utter mess, tangled with Lord knew what in it. Even though your face had soot and dirt caked over it, you had still looked quite fetching. He had to say, removing the nun garb had some wonders for your figure.

He had started the interview by asking you what your name was, and then progressing to the harder inquiries from there. Your demeanor had started off meek. You had hesitated with your words and your head appeared to be a mess.

–

“So, (f/n),” he said, testing out how your name sounded in his mouth. “Tell me why you defected.”

You nodded. “I couldn’t handle keeping the secrets of the church any longer.”

He scoffed arrogantly. “Ah, you were _weak_.”

“I was in some sense of the word, Bishop.”

“And do you suppose that’s a fitting excuse to tell the leader of Iscariot?” He drawled with a smirk. “That you were too weak to keep his secrets?”

You thought for a moment, weighing your responses mentally. There was no way for you to survive this exchange. Eventually, you knew they would kill you. Did it truly matter how you responded?

You shook your head, then. “I suppose not. I’m sorry, Bishop.”

He blinked at your non-chalance. Didn’t you know that you would die for your treachery? Your body language was calm - too calm for someone who was to be executed. He wondered how much it would take to force you to display fear. He wanted to see how you looked with your face contorted in absolute horror. Everyone was afraid of dying, even if they didn’t admit it.

“Apologizing won’t change the order of execution,” he said slyly. “You’ll be hung.”

You nodded in understanding. “Yes, I’m aware of the consequences.”

He froze again. How was none of this hitting home? Did you have this much faith in Jesus that you would be spared, or were you merely hopeful that He would deliver unto you a painless end? He would have to prod at you a little harder, perhaps twist his words a little.

“I might be moved to revoke the order, however,” he hummed. “If you cooperate with Isacariot a little longer.”

You perked up. “Is that so?”

He smiled like the Cheshire cat. “Perhaps. No promises.”

“I must respectfully decline, but thank you for the offer, Bishop.”

The smile was wiped off of his face in an instant. Anyone else would have leapt on the opportunity to have their punishment revoked, particularly if the consequence was death. His interest grew at a steady pace, unlike his outrage. Anyone who denied him when he offered a favour was generally scum to him. This time was no different.

It was his barely concealed, personal vulnerabilities that got him every time. When he offered favours, he expected the receiver to be grateful that a man of his status was taking an interest in their fate, whether it was to manipulate it negatively or otherwise. He didn’t want to hear of rejection. You didn’t have the _right_ to reject him.

No one but God did.

“How _dare_ you,” he growled. “I offer my aid and you reject it?! Do you understand how powerful I am?!”

The guards crept up behind you and smashed you face-first onto the table perceiving you as more of a threat than you were. When the sickening sound of your flesh hitting the wood hit his ears, he wasn’t sure what the tug at his heart meant until he saw your dazed expression and broken nose. The swelling from your fight with Anderson had reduced greatly, only to return with this brutal slam.

“Don’t touch her, you fools!” He hissed at his men, shocked at the tremble in his voice. “Let us speak!”

The two men, flabbergasted by their master’s sudden change in mood and tactics, bowed lightly and moved back to their places. If they had done such a thing to any other person, it would have been fine. Perhaps this case was so jarring to him because he had known you prior to your defection. Yes, he thought that was probably it.

You steadied yourself by grabbing the jagged edges of the table, closing your eyes to dispel the headache that threatened to keel you over. Dehydration and lack of food had made your migraines wickedly powerful to the point where you sometimes threw up if they didn’t let you sleep. You groaned as you blinked hard a few times, finally forcing yourself to look at the Bishop again. You didn’t know why he was acting a tad more forgiving than usual. Was it because you were a former nun? Doubtful - you had seen him demand the killing of a Protestant child in the past. The man didn’t seem to have much humility. Maybe he was growing soft.

When you stared at him, you saw something in his eyes that you just barely recognized as curiosity. He was curious about you. That was it.

“Do you wish to die?” He asked. “Do you wish to be hung, woman?”

You hesitated before shaking your head. “No, Bishop, but I can’t keep your secrets any longer.”

He laughed almost hysterically, displaying a version of him that you had only ever seen once prior. It was terrifying up close and directed at you. He was slowly losing his grip on reality. Father Anderson had muttered something about his ego being quite fragile in the past. This was clearly a reflection of such. It was a pity you were only seeing it now, right before your demise.

“You think yourself to be better than me, is that it?!”

You did. You did, but you wouldn’t say.

“No,” you insisted, instead. “That’s not it.”

“Then take my favour, you stupid little bitch,” he growled, leaning over the table at you. “ _Take it_. Take it so I can rip it away from you!”

Your raised your eyebrows, unsure of what to do. Either way, you would receive a death sentence. There were no cards for you to play. There was nothing left for you to do. At this point, you were putting your genuine self on display and he couldn’t fathom it. This was the real you, not the you shrouded by religion. You didn’t hate Maxwell for reacting this way to you, however. It was his job to deal with betrayal regarding his organization.

As for his nature, you could see how the world had molded him. You could see and you weren’t angry at his words. He was but a fragile soul in a tumultuous world of hate and pain. You couldn’t possibly bear resentment towards a man this pitiful.

“You can’t keep my secrets anymore, and yet you remained silent for years, didn’t you?” He sneered, leaning across the table at you.

“I did,” you acknowledged.

“You remained silent when innocents were slaughtered.”

“Yes.”

“You remained silent when law enforcement came to inquire about the series of sexual assaults allegations.”

You bit your lower lip. “Yes.”

“You remained silent when one of your colleagues disappeared after becoming pregnant with another priest’s child.”

Tears were forming in your eyes as you recalled all that you had erroneously turned a blind eye to. “Yes!”

The Bishop smirked. “And what of those prisoners of war? What of the men we enslaved?”

You pounded your fist against the table, promoting the guards to startle and take a step forward. You couldn’t take the memories that flooded back to you. You had tried to numb them for so long; you had tried and you had finally failed.

He thought you looked beautiful crying like this. The wetness crawled down your cheeks, making visible lines in the dirt. It was impossible for you to shield your face from his lustful, prying eyes. _Yes_. He could get used to seeing such a sight. Your emotional pain was everything in this moment.

He laid back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. Perhaps a stay of execution was in order, after all. He didn’t need to ask for permission from anyone but himself, and his verdict was that he wanted to see how else he could make you crack. What else could he do, he wondered, to make you show this side of yourself to him? What more could be use to make you realize you were _just like him_?

He snapped his fingers and pointed to your messy form, silently sobbing before him. The guards immediately took your arms on either side of you, dragging you out of the chair and toward the door. Your feet slid lazily against the rocky concrete, cutting your toes. He admired the scene before him with a wide smirk until you were gone.

“Give her a little bread and clean her up a bit next time,” he called to the men. “And bring her back here at the same time tomorrow afternoon.”

He heard you mutter a dreadful protest at that, and it only served to improve his boisterous mood. You would be his toughest and most rewarding project yet.


	14. Maxwell: Unique II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an intense piece!  
> Trigger warning for abuse, manipulation, and implied torture / non-con.
> 
> Enrico Maxwell (Iscariot) x Reader with slight Anderson x Reader, wherein Maxwell can't seem to break you so he pulls out the big guns.
> 
> 2 / 5

It had always been music to his ears to hear the suffering of Protestant men and women, but he had developed a taste for something richer these days.

“How was your evening, sister?” Maxwell asked, taking a sip of his tea.

The way he sat with his arm propped up on the back of his chair, legs crossed and body relaxed, made him appear as though he was conversing with an old friend over a drink. His eyes were softer than normal, though never quite losing their cruelty, and his expression cheerful. His outfit had been catered to reflect his importance, as always, and had been ironed the night prior. Shoes polished and long, snowy hair captured in a tight ponytail, he articulated his wealth loudly, as opposed to the woman sitting across from him.

You were barely conscious. Brown wrappings held your breasts in place and served as makeshift, scratchy undergarments. Foot coverings made from the thinnest cloth you had ever felt engulfed your feet. The (hair colour) locks that you had taken such good care of before your defection was no longer poorly matted or tangled, but this was because the guards had elected to cut it instead of provide you with a brush. The dirt had been cleaned, as well, at the very least making your skin as vibrant as it had been. You looked like a pauper; not that you were ashamed of such a title. Some of the poorest people were the kindest, after all, and the church had taught you not to judge other based on material possessions.

One of the guards grabbed what remained of your hair and slammed your face against the wooden table when you didn’t respond after a few moments. You grunted upon impact, feeling splinters inject into your flesh. They wretched your head back upward to face your guest yet again.

“The Bishop asked you a question, woman,” one of your assailants snarled.

You sighed. “I heard him.”

“Now, now,” Maxwell chuckled slyly. “No need to treat our nun with such brute force.”

“With respect, Bishop, I am no nun.”

You wondered if he knew what he was saying or if he wasn’t aware that he was utterly delusional. You were no longer a nun. The last you had spoken, you had renounced yourself as such by refusing to work with the Catholic Church and Iscariot. This man, who you had come to know as exceptionally vindictive and arrogant, had many dimensions to his person - all of them riddled with insanity. You would have to tread as carefully as you could. If you were fortunate, perhaps he wouldn’t try to break you down too roughly this afternoon.

He raised a fine eyebrow at your rebellion, shooing the guards away so that he could begin his mental torment. It had become one of the things he looked forward to during the week.

“Of course you are, my dear,” he drawled with a simper. “You’ll repent and make it all better.”

“I will repent,” you confirmed. “Though not for my defection. Did I make this unclear?”

His face shrunk a bit - a sign that he was not going to tolerate much more of your stern tone and defiance. There was just a little more room for you to push but you would have to be mindful for the cruel boundaries he had in place for you. He pursed his lips as he evaluated what you had said. The more time that passed, the more his patience ran thin. There was nothing you could do to save yourself from this unless you gave into whatever he had in mind. Nonetheless, knowing Maxwell, you had a feeling his desire would be sadistic.

“You don’t have an option in the matter,” he said finally, a reply you had anticipated. “You will repent for _all_ of your sins.”

There were a few ways in which you had repented in the past. The first was saying _Hail Mary_ three times and crossing yourself. The second was confessing to either Father Anderson or another priest in the booth. The last, which you had only been implored to do once, involved whipping your bare back a certain number of times dependent on the sin. You hoped that Maxwell didn’t have anything worse than the latter up his sleeve. You could handle a little pain; you had proven that since your arrival at Maxwell’s feet, beaten to a bloody pulp.

“How shall I repent?” You inquired before the guards could grab you from behind.

You didn’t like the grin he flashed you.

“I have something special in mind for you, _good nun_.”

Generally when people called you that, they meant you great harm. You didn’t doubt otherwise in your current circumstance. As the guards hoisted you out of the rickety chair and dragged you toward the door, you didn’t glance back at the Bishop like he _so_ wanted you to. It was a less than amusing climax, to be sure, but the main show would be delicious enough to make up for the stumble.

As he followed you down the hallway, he wondered when he would find out what made you tick. Surely you couldn’t hold out for too long once the real torture began. Nonetheless, he was a little torn. As you rounded the corner, sliding down the hall to the very end, he felt a sort of possessiveness rise within him.

 _He_ wanted to be the one to kill you when that time came.

 _He_ wanted to be the one to humiliate and torment you, both mind and body.

And _he_ wanted to be the one who finally broke you, reducing you to a being that was in far worse shape than he. Only then would you recognize your worth. Only then would you be able to comprehend exactly what you were - no better than him. This would remove you from your high horse and grant you a smidgen if humility before you died. If all went the way he wanted it to, you might even fear for your demise.

He would have plenty of time until then, however; there was a lot of work to be done on you. He was willing to try everything in the book to get to the root of your fear. You _had_ to have one, nun or nay. Was it demons or vampires? Perhaps it would be losing your soul to the Devil, or having your most precious material taken from you.

He stepped in front of the guards when you reached the black metal door at the end of the hallway. There were no windows and only a single reinforced lock. He fished the keys out of his pocket and opened the door with a grunt. The men tossed you in and promptly left, leaving you to the wrath of an obnoxiously cocky Maxwell.

“Tell Anderson that his subject is ready,” the white-haired man called as they retreated.

You grunted at the thought of having that mammoth of a paladin near you again. The last time, you had been beaten within an inch of your life. You had never thought of the kind Scottsman to be the type of man to harm an unarmed woman so greatly. Perhaps you should have, given that he was a prominent member of Iscariot.

The Bishop stepped into the cell where you remained on your knees, deep in thought and prayer before you were given another punishment. He grinned at how hopeful you were that your God would save you from him. In a way, it warmed his heart. He had never tasted such power over another human being before; this may have been the reason behind his obsession with your weakness.

As he heard the heavy footsteps of the man who had tried to raised him as best he would, he chuckled. Kneeling down, he touched you for the very first time, grasping your chin between his fingers and tilting your head to look at him. Your beauty didn’t blind him as he thought it would. Was it because demons were not bewitched by mere angels?

“Why are you doing this, Enrico Maxwell?” You whispered before he could tell you what was to come. “Why go through this much trouble to torture a nun?”

He stared into your eyes for a moment, registering your words and reading your intention. You were depressed with your condition but this was not enough. Why didn’t you understand what he needed to do for fulfillment? Why didn’t you understand that for him to leave you be, he needed you to crumble beneath his heel? In this prison, you did not serve Jesus. On the contrary, _he_ was your God now.

His grip tightened as he yanked your head closer to him aggressively. Just as Anderson’s large shadow engulfed your form, he grimaced at you. You didn’t know whether to gaze at him or the sadistic paladin.

“Because you’re _mine_ ,” he growled. “And I don’t care _what_ I have to do to make you understand that you have _no control_ in this domain, under my thumb.”

With that, he shoved you backward and stood. He nodded at Anderson as he left, an implicit command for him to do whatever was necessary. The simper that slithered onto his face was enough to chill even _his_ blood. Anderson wasn’t above committing all sorts of atrocities if it was in the name of Christ, and he considered defection to be as cowardly as murder.

“Well, lass,” Maxwell heard him chuckle. “It’s just you and me, now.”

The harsh clang of the door closing was music to his ears. There was no doubt in his mind that this encounter with the paladin would change you the next he saw you. He couldn’t wait to see the end result.


	15. Maxwell: Unique III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an intense piece!  
> Trigger warning for aftermath of non-con, manipulation, torture, abuse.
> 
> Enrico Maxwell x Reader, wherein you've been hurt beyond belief and he knows it.
> 
> Part 3 / 5

“Well now, how are we after repenting?”

His voice was like venom on her ears. It had been sick and devious prior, but now that she knew what he was capable of ordering, there was a new layer to it. It was as if he was Satan wrapped in human flesh. Some of her former sisters had always claimed that if Satan truly _was_ evil, he would climb the ranks of the Catholic church and deceive all he encountered. For all she knew, Enrico Maxwell could be the devil incarnate.

She sat back in her chair and stared at him through blurred vision. Suddenly, she wished that Father Anderson had taken her eyes rather than settling on blackening them. Dark purple and deep blue bruises could be seen on her skin, along with dark red cuts and scratch marks. There were even more beneath her ragged tunic and shorts. Her fingernails were all missing and two of her teeth had been chipped. And she didn’t even want to think about the wounds he could not see - the more intimate ones. It turned out that the paladin only abstained from sex when it was willing; he had been more than happy to break his stay on a _blasphemous whore_.

It was true that her mind was in shambles. She could barely go a few minutes at a time before experiencing a vivid memory of the physical, mental, and sexual abuse Father Anderson had put her through. She knew that it was all part of Maxwell’s little game. She knew that he just wanted to see her break at last, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to crumble. Not for him. There had been moments, during her torture, where she had considered it, though.

Giving in would bring about her end sharply. He would grow tired of her and toss her aside, as he did most things that gathered his interest. She could meet her inevitable end if she simply succumbed to his pressures and relinquished her pride - if she showed him that she, the resilient nun,had been defeated. She gritted her teeth at the mere notion of this.

“Sore, Bishop,” she grunted, sitting across from him on the same uncomfortable chair.

He grinned. It had been a week since he had tossed her into that cell at the mercy of Alexander Anderson. She looked much like the others he had gotten his hands on - demolished. It was a delicious sight.

“I heard that you confided in Father Anderson regarding your sins,” the white-haired man snickered. “You’ve completely repented.”

She knew what he was getting at. He wanted to hear her apologize for her betrayal, that she was _sorry_ for denying him his fun, that she would _love_ to be spared and reinstated as a nun. It was on the tip of her tongue, these words, and yet-

“I have.” She settled on.

He rubbed his chin softly. “You must be relieved.”

“I didn’t think that F-Father Anderson was capable of such things,” she said.

He sensed her terror instantly.

“Was that a _stutter_ , my dear?” He asked incredulously, feigning shock. “Are you nervous of our dear paladin? He was _only_ trying to help you.”

“His methods were outdated and inhumane for a paladin,” she uttered, trying not to burst into tears at the memories that flooded back.

Maxwell released a hideous laugh, one that was meant to mock her.

“Outdated and inhumane?” He scoffed. “Are you not a prisoner on trial for treason against the Catholic church?”

“Prisoners in our judicial system are not beaten within an inch of their life or r-raped,” she urged, unable to control her stutter once more.

He smirked at her slip-up. “Are you worried about pregnancy, nun?”

He looked beyond her to the two guards, both who had started chuckling at the sick thought. She wanted to jump out of her chair and shout them through the wall, until they could understood her pain. This wasn’t the way members of the church were supposed to react to violence.

“Isn’t _this_ a sight - a _nun_ worried for _pregnancy_!” He called to the men, who snickered a little louder.

This was unfortunately common in this day and age. Men didn’t take matters like beating and raping women seriously, for women were seen as mere possessions. As a nun, she was no one’s wife. As such, her wellbeing didn’t matter. She wasn’t sure if it was that they could never understand or if it was a matter of sheer ignorance, but these sorts of reactions from men were disgusting.

Slowly calming himself, Maxwell steered himself back to face you. “Ah well, you won’t have to worry about pregnancy. Your life will end before your baby sees the light of day… or should I make you have it _before_ your execution?”

He laughed again at that.

“Or maybe I should make you have it in a guillotine,” he resumed. “The first sight the little bastard will see is your head rolling off the block.”

She couldn’t stop herself from turning her head to the side and dry heaving aggressively. In and out, her breath came and went. In and out. In and out until she couldn’t hold it down any longer. The poor nun threw up all over the muddy floor, spilling what little contents her stomach had.

“Ah, there she goes!” She heard the devil shout gleefully.

When she was done, she wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist, spitting a final time before sitting up straight in her seat again. This wasn’t the first time she had thrown up before him. He was probably used to it by now. It meant that he was getting the reaction he wanted, too.

“Feeling better now?” He questioned rudely.

“I don’t understand how you can treat people this way,” the woman coughed. “How can you call yourself a Catholic and commit such atrocities on a person?”

“Is my treatment undeserving, do you think?” And she knew that she had struck a nerve.

“If you were in my place, would you believe your treatment unjust, Bishop?” She challenged, making him clench his jaw. “When you inevitably die, do you imagine your end will be warranted?”

He slammed his fist against the table, rising from the seat he had jested in only moments before. Oh yes, she had rubbed a nerve quite raw. Could it be that Enrico Maxwell feared for his end while leading Iscariot? Did the dear bishop believe that he would die prematurely in his profession? You tried to hide the amusement in your eyes while his nostrils flared and he leered at you.

“ _I_ would never be in your position, nun!” He shrieked rather childishly. “For _I_ would not betray the Catholic church!”

The woman turned to glance at the two guards, who now wore stone cold expressions. They got nervous when their boss got like this. He was unpredictable and had a lot of power in the church. With a mere flick of his finger, he could have either one of them condemned and executed, same as you.

“Can either of you see your leader being a traitor?” She asked, specifically to fan the flames of her opponent’s rage. “With his temper and flippant attitude, I would fear for my life, if I were you.”

“Enough!” Maxwell cried, running around the table until he was directly in front of her.

A loud slap resounded from his palm making contact with the frail woman’s cheek. The guards jostled in their positions, unsure of whether to take the nun back to her cell or wait. In the meantime, she rubbed her cheek and rolled her head back up to stare at the terrible man. He had his teeth clenched, seething down at her with an ancient sort of fury that she had never before seen.

It was clear that her words had reminded him of something sensitive. He must have thought her a mind reader, for his reaction had gone from zero to one hundred in seconds. Was he really that easy to impress upon? Furthermore, could she use this to her advantage? If so, to what degree could she do so in order to minimize her harm? These were things she would ponder later tonight, as she lied awake on the floor.

Maxwell couldn’t believe how easily she had gotten to him this time. It was getting easier and easier. He thought he had been doing a better job, since her week of absence. He thought that seeing her like this would decrease the harm she could do to him. She didn’t understand what she was capable of or what sort of hold she had in him. Hell, _he_ didn’t even know how to describe it.

There was lust and hatred, a happiness that burned within him when he got to see her. There were butterflies in his gut as he opened the door to the jails at night, watching her sleep without her knowledge in the darkness. There was a desire to snuff her fire out. He simply wanted to dominate her like he had never wanted to dominate another. That was all. She was tricky, but he would get her eventually. He was learning about her triggers slowly but surely.

Standing upright and clearing his throat, Maxwell ripped his eyes from the woman before he did something he knew he would regret. He grabbed the attention of both unsure guards, who promptly moved to grab his little nun. She put up no fight as they gripped her under her arms and dragged her toward the exit.

“No food for two days,” he called after them. “But make sure she’s hydrated and bathed. Do what you please with her.”

They would do anything but kill her and this was fine with him. They could beat her within an inch of her life, so long as she didn’t die. This week, he had discovered that the sexual assault orchestrated carnally by Anderson had been rather troublesome for her mental state. He would continue to use this in the future. What he had said about her having the child, however, he would belay; he would never allow her to have the child of another. If she was pregnant to any man but him, he would see to it that she lost the baby.

She was his property. It wouldn’t do for him to have an object that had the seed of another inside of it.

He watched emotionlessly as her feet slid out the door. Normally, he would have waved. Normally, he would have played with her for a little while longer. Today, all he wanted to do was retire. His head was heavy and there was much to think about. Perhaps it was time to change up his tactics. Perhaps it was time to show her what his true fantasy was.

She would hate him for it. She would hate him and she would succumb to his wishes. But would he come to hate himself, as well…?

He sighed and lulled his head downward. He was getting obsessed with this little nun, and he knew it. He also knew that there was no stopping now; not when he had already gotten so far.


	16. Maxwell: Unique IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an intense piece!  
> Trigger warning for mentions of non-con, manipulation, torture, abuse.
> 
> Enrico Maxwell x Reader, in which you are taken from him and he vows to get you back.
> 
> Part 4 / 5

Maxwell slammed his shot glass down on the desk in the interrogation room, pouring himself another almost instantly. The whiskey was warm going down his throat, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had actually savoured alcohol. Perhaps on a warm winter night, years ago, before he had become a Bishop. Yes, that sounded about right. Back when things hadn’t been as hectic, when he had been working toward a goal. He hadn’t imagined ever taking a sip of the hard stuff again; hadn’t figured he would need to.

Cradling his head in his hands, fingers entangling in his white locks, the man groaned. No guards were present today, so he was allowed to show a degree of weakness. By himself, anything was allowed. By himself, he could take off his mask and be as scared of the world as the rest of them. He left his cruelty at the door, lest he need to inflict it upon some poor fool. He needed to keep an appearance in the public sphere, after all; he couldn’t afford to run out of the malevolent, hateful energy that drove him to rise from bed every morning.

The dim lights buzzed softly overhead as he downed yet another shot, sighing after it slid down his parched throat. He didn’t like feeling this way. He didn’t like feeling trapped or lost or vulnerable, just as much as he didn’t like being defeated by a filthy Protestant or supernatural bottom-feeder. And what was the product of these stagnant, destructive thoughts that swam through his mind? Who was the culprit behind his trembling and grumbling, his thundering voice and his reddened visage?

You were. His nun. It was all your fault.

He still didn’t understand how you made him feel like this. He couldn’t comprehend what drove him to dominate you like a rabid animal. When you had first been in his possession, all he had wanted was for you to die a coward. Then, it had evolved into a desire to see you scream and beg for mercy. Finally, it had been snuffed out just as he had been processing his need to keep you as a plaything.

A _plaything_.

Enrico Maxwell, Bishop of Iscariot, didn’t need a plaything. So why did he need you? What made a traitorous, bland-looking nun so special? He had been on the cusp of determining the answer when you had been snatched from his care.

It had been six months since your capture. You had been so close to breaking a handful of times, the frequency of which increasing as the days dragged on. He had found that inflict Anderson on you worked quite well to incite fear in your puffy little eyes. Of course, there was also the event of the miscarriage.

It turned out that your worries had been grounded in truth; the paladin had impregnated you upon forcing himself on you numerous times. During a particularly bad beating, you had started bleeding. The horror that had washed across his face upon believing he could lose his source of entertainment must have been a sight to see. He had ordered you to the medical unit immediately, only to be told that you had lost a child. The nurse said that you had been pregnant for a little over a month. He had known why this had happened, why it had gotten so far. It was been because he had told the guards to abstain from physically harming you so long as you complied during your meetings with him. The beating that came from Anderson soon after you had defied him for the first time in a month had been great, hence the trauma.

It wasn’t as though he was sad about the loss of a fetus, though. There hadn’t been anything you could have done to prevent it, other than remain obedient. It had been God’s will for you to experience this loss, as the paladin had said. Perhaps it had also been a punishment for your defection and lack of remorse. Nonetheless, since that day, you had been overly compliant and shaky. The death appeared to have affected you beyond anything else he had done. When you had tried to kill yourself one evening in your cell, that was when he had known.

He had always believed that he would walk into the interrogation room to find you dead one day. Not by your own hand, of course, but the wounds you had perpetuated from your insolence. It would have been a damnable ending for you, but one he might have been satisfied with. Your final thoughts would have been about him, binding your soul to his might eternally.

He had never expected you to be taken away so abruptly, by a woman who had done nothing but thwart him since their initial encounter. That _damned_ Integra. That _damned_ Hellsing organization. That _damned_ vampire.

They all deserved to burn.

“She wasn’t yours to take,” Maxwell growled as he fisted the bottle of whiskey with a quivering hand. “She wasn’t yours to ruin…!”

He wondered where you were right now. He wondered if they had fed and clothed you, if you had even survived the capture. Would he know if you died? Would he know if you had been too frail to live through the trip back to their wretched estate?

“It isn’t fair,” he grumbled, taking a swig directly from the bottle. “She was mine, Hellsing. How dare you take her from me…!”

He rose from his seat and threw the table over at that, splinters flying everywhere from the decayed wood. The bottle of whiskey smashed against the floor, spraying liquid and glass across the room, which now wreaked of desperation. With a feral cry, he tilted his head to the ceiling in a desperate plea to his Lord. The room was soundproof but someone must have heard the utter strength of his voice.

Why, after his tireless time serving Him, had He taken away his joy? Was this a test? It had to be. Surely He wasn’t _that_ unforgiving. So then, what did he have to do to retain you again? No. No, that wasn’t the question he ought to be asking at a time like this. Now was the moment to reflect - reflect upon his sins. It wasn’t about getting you back just yet; it was about understanding how he lost you to begin with, wasn’t it?

He chuckled a bit at the irony of it all. Everyone looked to him for the answers, and yet here he was, a mere ant in the eyes of Jesus. It was a rude awakening, that he didn’t know it all. He absolutely _despised_ being in this position and when he saw you again, he would be sure to tell you this in the most satisfying way possible.

Dropping to his knees and ignoring the pain that resounded in his bones, he clasped his hands together in front of him and bowed his head. He could think about your punishment later, though the prospect of having you in his clutches again _was_ rather delicious. Right now, he needed pure deliberation.

He sat there for an hour. Two hours. Three hours.

It was the longest he had ever sat in prayer and it was the most fruitful. Akin to meditation, when he finally broke free of his position, back stiff and limbs aching, he felt oddly at ease. The room was brighter, as were his dead eyes.

His path was as clear as his conscience. He hummed a classical piece beneath his breath as he thought this, relaxing his body as he stared back up at the ceiling.

His path was clear.

His conscience was clear.

He hummed.

And hummed.

And hummed.

And hummed.

His feet took him beyond the interrogation room and down the path toward your cell. He lingered there for a moment, eyes lucid and face enlightened. He thought of the trials you had endured here and how you had continued to triumph over defeat - you, his little resilient nun.

His feet took him past your former cell and up the staircase to the main floor next, an express route to his dear paladin’s quarters. There was much to be done, even in the ripe hours of the morning. There was much to be done and it couldn’t wait.

His humming increased in volume and became rather frantic. Had any church folk been about the place, they would have heard and thought him mad; and maybe he was mad. What did it matter when he had more important things to attend to? He was calm as he knocked authoritatively on Father Anderson’s door.

There was faint rustling to be heard within the chamber before its door came slowly open. It seemed as though Anderson hadn’t been able to rest, either. He was in his night clothes with damp blonde hair, resting an arm against the frame as his worried eyes flashed down to his former charge.

“What is it, lad?” He asked, using a nickname that Maxwell had only ever begrudgingly allowed in private. “Trouble?”

Yes, there was always trouble, wasn’t there? He wanted to tell him this. He also wanted to grab him by the collar and smash his head against the wall repeatedly, until he was satisfied that the hulking man had touched his nun so intimately before him. Why had he permitted such a thing? You might have been a virgin. You might have been a goddamn virgin for his plucking, and he had handed you over to this absolute _ogre_ instead.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to simmer down. Even as cunning as he was, there was never any chance of him prevailing over Anderson in any way. There would be no use in doing so; it would just to turn the paladin against him. Swallowing his anger and the curses that threatened to emerge from his throat, Maxwell cleared his throat and ceased his incessant humming at long last.

“I need you to gather our best men and invade the Hellsing estate within the next week,” he said confidently.

And of course he was confident. What could go wrong? He had the Lord on his side. Why would He give him a vision that would not come true? There was no way this raid could fail.

Anderson didn’t look surprised. “Why so hasty, now?”

But Anderson knew a thing or two about Maxwell’s haste. He knew because they all did. They all knew that he was obsessed with the defected nun.

It was difficult to miss. Traditionally, Maxwell favoured torture that generally lasted a week or two at most, followed by a swift execution at the guillotine or gallows. There was never an instance wherein the bishop had done otherwise, claiming boredom within the first month of having a captive. The nun had been drastically different. Anderson had first noticed the glint of lust in his eyes when he had been sent to your cell. From that day, the lust had evolved into something the white haired man could barely fathom.

Anderson knew it.

The guards knew it.

They all knew it.

Maxwell had fallen into some sort of sick love with a prisoner, and now he would stop at nothing to keep you. He couldn’t let you live away from him and if you were to die, it would be by his hand. Anderson almost wondered if he should just kill you upon finding you, so that he could be done with it.

“I want you to bring back our little nun,” the bishop replied, interrupting the paladin’s inner monologue.

“The nun?” He inquired. “Is she still alive?”

Maxwell grinned wickedly. “Oh, yes. She’s alive.”

Anderson wasn’t sure he wanted to know how the crazed man knew such a thing. Perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps this was yet another symptom of his madness usurping the rational parts of his mind.

Anderson hesitated. “And that’s the only goal of the invasion, is it?”

Maxwell didn’t waver despite detecting the distaste his associate had for his proposed mission. It was clear that he already knew about his desire to have you. He would have to be more careful in the future; if too many people knew of his weakness it wouldn’t bode well for his leadership position. Maybe he would treat you even worse when you returned, just to save face. You deserved a little extra pain, and then some.

“Try to do away with Alucard’s harlot, too,” he said finally, trying to save a little face. “Seras Victoria.”

An eye for an eye, as it were. Men from Hellsing had stolen something of his, so it was only natural for him to want to return the favour. Anderson could see right through his ploy. Seras would be the revenge component but you remained the final goal.

“And you want this done as soon as possible, do you?”

Maxwell nodded and started to walk off, humming the same tune as before as he left his colleague behind. “See to it that it’s done with _great_ haste, paladin.”

Anderson watched with sorrowful eyes as the slim man disappeared into the shadows of the hallway without so much as a goodbye. As heartless as he was toward all those blasphemous, the regenerator felt sorry for Enrico Maxwell. The man had never known love. He had never known what it was like to be wanted or needed by a woman. As such, he had ended up the twisted little psychopath that he was, drunk on power, for power gave him what no one else could.

Power gave him the attention he had always desired. Power fucked him in all the right ways. Most importantly, power gave him a reason to look ever outward and neglect his inner darkness.

As he signed the cross over his chest and closed his bedroom door for the rest of the morning, he lamented. Since he had met the boy, he had known it would eventually come to this. He didn’t even know if Jesus could save him at this point.


	17. Maxwell: Unique V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW below.  
> Trigger warnings for mentioning of non-con, torture, abuse, delusional/sick tendencies.
> 
> Enrico Maxwell x Reader, in which you're gone and he has to move onto the next pretty little fool.
> 
> Part 5/5.

It turned out that one _could_ teach an old dog new tricks, though not in the way Maxwell had expected. Such a kind, gracious little nun. How could anyone have expected her to be a traitor? She had been in contact with Hellsing for years before her unsuccessful escape, pulling the wool over everyone's eyes with her charm and faux devotion. It had been a clever ruse, though that made it all the more infuriating.

Upon Anderson's return from the Hellsing estate, after the abrupt, unplanned siege, Maxwell had demanded an investigation on each and every nun in the Catholic church; no priests or bishops - just nuns. Perhaps it had been because this time, the prisoner had meant something to him. Perhaps his extreme response, as Anderson had described it, had been due to the muddled feelings in his frigid heart.

It wasn't love; he was still quite adamant about that. Nevertheless, it wasn't strictly business, either. It hadn't been strictly business since he had tossed her into the cell with the paladin and laughed at her expense. Something sinister plagued him and the root was his precious nun. It made him giddy inside, made him dismiss his rampant insecurities and vulnerabilities. She gave him a sensation that he had never felt before, one that he wanted to cling onto as he deciphered. In his mind, God had given him the gift of enlightenment in the form of a person. And now, he had taken her from him.

Every event had a lesson, though, wasn't it? That's what Anderson often taught during his youth sermons. He couldn't find the lesson in this, though, no matter how much he strained his mind and took to the bottle. He couldn't delve into himself nearly enough to see that his viciousness had brought this on. It just seemed... unfair.

The only person who had ever made him light up was gone, and right when he had so many plans for her. It was selfish, truly, that she had been killed by Hellsing's bastard undead servant. She could have fought a little more - fought to come back to him, if not to retain herself. She had the fire to prevail over many, as he had seen during interrogation sessions. Surely she could have held out just a little longer for Anderson to arrive.

According to his confidant, she had been dead for at least six hours when he had entered. Alucard had told him that she refused to give them any information regarding Iscariot. As such, she had been executed. There had been no body to be found. She had been absorbed by the vampire, existing for an eternity within him and amongst many others.

It made his blood boil, to think that she had not met her end on his accord. It made him absolutely _furious_ to think that Hellsing obtained what was his. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that his nun had been stolen and so easily discarded. It was the same sort of heartbreak from when the children in his youth would steal his toys and then break them; the sentimental value was destroyed and the fun was instantly depleted.

Anderson had tried to comfort him. He had tried to convince him that this was a good thing, that he could focus better now that his muse was no more. Saying such a thing about her hadn't helped. He had nearly bit the man's head off before dismissing him for the rest of the day, choosing to drown his sorrows with a little whiskey in the basement.

"Think about it, lad!" The blonde Scotsman had bellowed. "You were losin' yerself to a treacherous nun!"

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Maxwell had seethed through clenched teeth, his stress tinting the world red through his wide eyes. "In fact, if your surviving men hadn't vouched for her death, I wouldn't have trusted you."

Because Anderson had articulated his doubts about Maxwell's obsession prior. He had dared to inquire whether he was torturing her reasons beyond the organization. It had happened first after the paladin had taken his time breaking the nun in all forms he knew how. He had emerged from the cell with his hair and clothing utterly dishevelled, nail marks on his face, shoulders, arms, and back. Maxwell had only seem those on his face, however. They had been deep and red, tearing the first few layers of his skin. He hadn't bothered to exert his effort regenerating when he was in the midst of such fun, of course. He liked to remind his victims that he was more powerful than them when he did these sorts of things; he had to exaggerate their fear toward him across all faucets.

"She's a tough traitorous whore," he had grumbled with a sour frown. "Not done with the lass yet."

Despite being a man of God, something both he and Maxwell had in common was that they liked hurting those beneath His word. Anyone who was against Catholicism and its influence was no longer innocent in their twisted minds. It didn't matter that Jesus preached love toward thy neighbour; all that mattered was there could be _no_ active threats to the church.

And that was precisely the basis that Anderson operated on. That was why he was so horrible in his supernatural-related dealings.

"How badly did you hurt her?" Maxwell had asked the man, vivid excitement in his feral orbs, salivating only a little.

"She didn't retain her vow of innocence," he had scoffed. "She was deflowered as a wee one."

The albino-haired man had raised a curious brow. "As a child?"

The paladin shook his head. "As a teen."

The implication of what he had done hung in the air like a stale musk. Neither men confirmed the suspicion. Neither man had to.

Still, back then, Maxwell had felt a mix of vapid excitement and frustration. On one hand, he had been content that his nun was being put in her place; he had wanted desperately to see the aftermath of Father Anderson's treatment. On the other, he would have preferred taking on the job himself. He would have enjoyed taking the woman as his, taunting her with it every single day until her demise. He would have found great joy in impregnating her with his bastard, only to kill her before she could birth the abomination.

Anderson had witnessed the flurry of conflicting emotions tread across his former charge's face. In but a second, the blonde could tell that Maxwell had fallen into the trap that many had before him; he had developed a connection with his prisoner.

"She's special to ya, is she?" Anderson had asked before he could stop himself.

And the bishop hadn't taken that well. He hadn't taken that well at all, because why would a fucking _nun_ be special to _him_? She was a prisoner and nothing more, even though he consciously knew there was something more.

Maxwell's face twisted into a grimace as he recalled the embarassing memory of Anderson reading him like a book. He chugged another few shots of whiskey to dull the pang of pain in his gut. For the next few weeks, he would sleep seldom and ruminate often. This is what he would do to medicate. There would be no help from God for him. He would need to conquer his rapid feelings on his own, drowning himself in sin.

What else was new, really? He had sinned quite a bit in his life. A small sliver of him had always known of his calloused traits and behaviours, though this part of him was kept well at bay. He couldn't afford to acknowledge something he could never hope to change.

He still maintained that he didn't care for her, and he believed this. How could he care for the woman and damage her so, after all? As delusional as he was, he was rational enough to at least know this. Alas, there was something about her - something he couldn't comprehend. Maybe he never would, now that she was no more.

He pressed a hand to his forehead and groaned as he sat at the old wooden table in the basement; the same one where he had interrogated and mentally abused his nun on various occasions. It was where he felt closest to her and the pain he had delivered unto her deserving, frail little body. It was the only place he could ever bear to think.

In the shadows at the back of the room, Anderson watched as the child he had helped raise battled with his faith. His face was expressionless. It was a fight all holy men went through at least once in their life. The paladin couldn't hope to assist him with his demons.

And he would never tell him that his precious former captive was, in fact, alive. She was alive.

This had been troubling news for Anderson. He had been told to bring her back, though he hadn't been able to rationalize doing so. Maxwell was the centrepiece of Iscariot and he was expected to show this. He couldn't possibly do so when he was mulling over some useless obsession with a woman. He would be fine once the next pretty victim comes along. And she would. They always did. During these trying times, many ungrateful wenches were trying to defect. It wouldn't take long for the malicious bishop to find someone that reminded him of his fix.

It was obvious that the albino-haired man was insane by some definition of the word. Anderson knew it. The church knew it, too. However, so long as he wasn't being too reckless, a little craziness was fine. The paladin had been forced to draw the line for him a few times, now. This time was no different.

Wherever the nun was, she wouldn't be returning to haunt her captor anytime soon. That was part of the reason he hadn't killed her during the invasion. That, and he hadn't been able to find her. He didn't know the fine details of her line of work with Hellsing, of course; he simply knew what the vampire had told him.

"Your nun?" Alucard had scoffed. "Long gone by now, regenerator! A helpful, willing ally for the time she remained our agent, though. Now, _fight me_!"

Was it wrong of him to withhold information from Iscariot if he knew it would only serve to thwart the organizations efforts in the long run? Perhaps under the malevolent eye of God it was, but in his mind his decision was just. If his former charge heard that his muse was still alive, it was likely that he would want to recapture her for his further amusement. Catering to his own selfish desires would only put the church back, of course; the nun offered no relevant information for them to retain, even during her time as an agent.

Her lips were sealed.

As Anderson moved out of the room and walked down the long hall that lead to the cells, he glanced into the one where he had abused the woman. A sly smirk found its way to his lips as he thought about what he had done to her on that filthy stone floor. He could admit that he had enjoyed trying to break her. Seeing the defeat in her eyes as he had easily overpowered her over and over again, during each of their sessions, had brought him extacy. He could understand why Maxwell was so stricken to some degree. Having a difficult target to work with was always entertaining.

He walked on after lingering a few moments, only stopping when he heard footsteps following closely. He shifted to see who was after him, expecting it to be one of his men seeking his guidance. Instead, it was a glassy-eyed Maxwell.

"Anderson," he greeted meekly.

"Enrico," the blonde replied, skipping the formalities at a time like this. "What is it, lad?"

"She's really dead, right?"

"I'm sure."

And just like that, he lied through his teeth to the misunderstood, sick young man that he had tirelessly helped to create. Just like that, Maxwell was kept in the dark like a good little puppet.

With a small, reassuring smile, Anderson muttered, "but don't fret, now; there will surely be others."


	18. Anderson: The Spider and the Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW below.  
> Trigger warning for date rape/non-con, physical abuse.
> 
> Anderson x Reader, in which you and the paladin engage in a dangerous game of cat and mouse.

You hid beneath the table in the old fort, which had been used in days passed as a peaceful meeting point for all troops. Clutching your pistol, loaded and ready, for the second time tonight, you closed your eyes and counted to ten in your head. The footsteps lurking about the place were anything but peaceful. They were inquisitive and hungry, like a calculative predator. They had sullied the purpose of this old structure to fit their own dark goal.

_One. Two. Three._

He entered the room through the only door. There weren't even any windows for you to crawl out of. You had raced down to the basement to escape from him when your mission nearby had gone sour. As a mercenary, these things happened; you had been cornered a handful of times in the past. This time was different, though. The man who was pursuing you wanted more than just to end your life in the literal sense. He had told you this both with his eyes and his behaviour.

The wretched Father Anderson of Iscariot.

_Four. Five. Six._

He hovered close to your location, and you knew he had already found you. There weren't many places for you to burrow into down here. It would only be a matter of time until he made to grab you.

_Seven. Eight. Nine._

You reopened your eyes and looking directly into his as his large hand shot out to clasp your ankle. Aiming the gun between his eyes, you fired three times into his face at close range. He bore all three shots, his body twitching as he backed up and fell over. According to what you had seen him do during this mission, he would be probably be out for at least a few minutes. You smirked confidently, adjusting the black mask over your mouth and nose.

_Ten._

You slid out from under the low table and dashed toward the stairs back to the surface. Behind you, you could already hear him regenerating. You were in the middle of nowhere and you would have to be quick if you wanted to survive; if you were able to cross the field of tall yellow grass and get back to the village there, you could find the rest of your comrades to assist.

"You think ya can escape me, lass!?" You heard him cackle as he took off up the stairs after you.

With a grimace, you reloaded your pistol so that you would have more than enough bullets for the next time he caught up. You panted ad you burst through the front door of the place and barrelled down the hill. Your knit cap flew off and released your hair into the intense night wind as you pushed your body to its limit. You hated to admit it but the son of a bitch was giving you quite the workout.

You gasped when you heard his footsteps draw closer behind you, diving out of the way before one of his bayonets slashed through your left tendon. He laughed like the maniac he was as you rolled away and back to your feet. Aiming your gun at him yet again, you fired two shots that missed as he advanced. You scowled, trying to predict his sporadic movements before he was upon you. His hand reached out for you but you destroyed it with a few bullets and moved back again. You loaded a few more bullets into your gun and waited as he kept his distance across from you.

He didn't feel pain, it seemed. Whenever you hurt him, he came right back for more. It was unnerving to think that this man had chosen you as his target, for whatever reason. Perhaps it had been because you were the only surviving member of your mission team, as well as the one who had landed the killing blow on the client he had been assigned to protect. Still, why was he so intent on grabbing you instead of killing you? That, you had yet to find out.

"Accept my offer and we can end this wee game!" Anderson called out to you as he clutched his regenerating arm. "Yer runnin' out of bullets and suicide is a sin."

"Are you trying to kill me or take me hostage?" You growled.

The paladin grinned in the darkness, his glasses glistening in the ripe moonlight. "I want to recruit ya, lass. Just come quietly."

You shook your head slowly. That wasn't the truth! It couldn't be. You were a protestant and he was with the catholic church. There was no way they would want to hire you. They likely just wanted to torture you for information.

"You're lying, monster," you replied.

He chuckled slyly, not bothering to hide the true intentions plastered across his readable face. "I cannae lie, wench, for it is against God."

"Is it _not_ against God to alter your body?" You countered.

He lunged at you, then, and you knew you had hit a nerve. Your bullets penetrated everything but him as he successfully made his way to you, smacking the gun from your hands and slamming you to the ground. You yelped as you felt him atop you, pressing damn near all of his weight on your smaller form. You gasped for breath, wheezing as he enjoyed how you felt beneath him.

You didn't beg, though; even as your vision blurred and your lungs burned. He wouldn't hear a peep out of you about mercy. That wasn't how you were taught. Death was scary but not as scary as being branded a sniveling coward.

"Oh, yer gonna make me a _very_ happy man, girl," he snarled as you faded out of consciousness. "You'll never know it though."

The last thing you felt was him setting you down on the ground and tugging at your jumpsuit, followed by the cool night air on your exposed body. When you woke up several hours later in a Iscariot base, you wouldn't have a clue what had been done to you. No one would. No one but a malicious Father Anderson, who never seemed to stop undressing you over and over again with his unholy eyes.

He didn't care if you never knew. On your body was a silent, invisible marking that made you his infinitely.


	19. Anderson: The Plot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slight NSFW below.  
> Trigger warning for abuse and implied non-con.
> 
> Anderson x Reader, in which you realize that you can pull the wool over your abusive husband's eyes eventually.

He set you up to fail sometimes, just so he could get off on punishing you. It fell under the guise of him being a good husband, he said; one of his duties was to keep his unruly little wife in line and show her the ropes of what it meant to be a true woman. That ideology, along with many other preachings of the Catholic church, was laced in abuse and sexism. Alas, instead of revising these things, they continued to perpetuate them. Instead of changing with the times and adapting so all could enjoy the benefits and teachings of their religion equally, they held strong in their divisions. How awkward it must be, you often found yourself thinking, to remain stagnant in an ever-evolving world.

You had married Father Anderson initially in the Spring of 1989. It had been an arranged ordeal between your parents and the church. You had managed to catch his eye during countless sermons and confessionals. While it was odd for a priest to demand anyone's hand in marriage like this, your parents had been elated. They would receive a lump sum of money for giving you off, and you would experience the high life alongside one of the community's most esteemed members. Your father had been so hopeful of giving you a better life. You were glad he couldn't see you, now; it would have brought him to tears.

The good part about your relationship was that he sometimes went away for a few days. He never told you where he was going, though he always told you of his absence; there were rules that you had to follow in this event, after all.

"I'll be shippin' out tomorrow night, lass," he would drawl as you massaged his shoulders during his evening meal. "I don't be home for a few days."

You would nod obediently. Not asking questions like _why_ had become a new norm for you. The less you spoke, the better. You had quickly learned that Anderson enjoyed hearing himself talk in the presence of his own wife. It would have been endearing, had you been able to factor out his toxicity.

"Remember the rules, now?"

And then you would need to speak, for if you didn't, he would assume you needed a reminder. You would nod again, this time reciting all of his routine demands with a sour face. You always relished the times he couldn't see you; you could get away with far more in those moments.

"No leaving the house," you would start. "No answering door and no opening the windows."

You couldn't have opened the windows if you had tired; he had taken the time to nail them shut. This was a result of you sneaking out of the house one evening, claiming that you dearly missed your parents. After marriage, you hadn't been permitted to see friends or family without him by your side. The loneliness had already gotten to you several times in the last seven months, to the point where he had felt it necessary to lock you in at times. He was possessive just as much as he was obsessive. It made your gut uncomfortable to think about.

"Keep the curtains closed and clean the house right before you come home," you would continue listing. "Have a meal prepared for your arrival."

"And don't forget to polish my shoes," he would often remark, though this was just as he left the house. "Yer gettin' better at that, love."

In harsh reality, you were only getting better at it because you wanted to avoid a beating. He never hit you too hard - he usually just used his belt on your behind - but any pain you could escape from, you would. Lately, your job on his shoes had been satisfactory enough for him to leave you be.

This was where the problem lay for a man like Anderson, however; if you weren't fucking up, he didn't get his fun. Moreover, if he didn't get his fun the natural way, he would try to elicit something far more sinister. This is where new rules and guidelines for your behaviour came in, because he knew you would slip up eventually.

One time, he had told you to have dinner ready for him when he got home, as he always did. That evening, he had arrived home at the ripe hour of four-thirty instead of five. You had been shocked. In an attempt to gaslight you, he had tried to claim that he had told you of this alteration in time before he had left in the morning. You knew he hadn't, though; you knew it had just been an excuse to play around with you. Despite offering to speed up your cooking that night, the ordeal had still landed you with a punishment.

And he had thoroughly enjoyed inflicting your pain, though not as much as he had fancied the latter half of the evening.

To him, your pain was delectable. It was reinforcement for him to see you doing a better job of things around the house after a beating, too. Being a holy man, he couldn't equate that his treatment was doing far more than making you obey. It was also making you despise him... not that _that_ was a challenge. You didn't like being confined to the house all day except for outings with him, cooking and cleaning for someone you barely knew on a personal level.

He thought he knew _you_ , though, and that was enough for him. Anytime you had asked him s question about himself in the beginning of your marriage, he had deflected it. It was as if he was trying to determine which parts of his life he wanted you to know about. Simultaneously, however, he certainly wanted to learn more about you. Even nowadays, be would sit at the table as he ate his dinner and ask you specific questions about your past. It wasn't every night, but it was at least thrice a week. Just like him, though, you were hesitant about sharing anything too personal; you didn't want him to have more ammo against you. You tried to answer the questions vaguely where you could. The important questions, you couldn't get away from.

"Did ya have anyone special before I came along?" He had asked you once.

You had thought it was a trap, because why wouldn't it have been? His behaviour fit the profile of someone who was overprotective and dominating. He would either use the information against you or find the person you disclosed. And when he found them - if that was truly his goal - you didn't know what he was capable of doing to them.

"No," you had replied shortly.

He had gestured for you to pick up your fork and knife as he finished eating, something he did commonly. He didn't give up on his inquiry, either.

"What about this _Lucille_ person yer ma wrote ya about?"

At that moment, you had realized that he had read your personal letters. Your eyes had slowly risen from your plate to the piece of aged paper in his hand. He had smirked at your shocked expression, knowing that he had caught you in a lie.

It wasn't that Lucille had been a lover. On the contrary, they were a close friend. You had known that your husband wouldn't accept that sort of response, though; that's why you had lied in the first place.

"Lucille is a friend," you had claimed anyway, in a poor attempt to spare yourself some agony. "We've known each other since birth."

"Do they know yer _happily married_?"

You had resisted the urge to scowl. Happily married was not the term you would have used to describe your relationship with him. Nonetheless, you had nodded.

"They do," you had replied softly. "My parents told them."

"Then why did yer ma bring 'em up, lass? If they were nothin' to ya."

"Alexander, please," you had pleaded prematurely, sensing what was to come. "She brought them up because they're a _friend_."

"You must think I'm daft," he had growled, then, indicating that he was done with the conversation going your way.

You still didn't know where that outburst had come from. Perhaps it had stemmed from the fact that you didn't care for him, and that you loved other people more than you would ever love him. Perhaps that realization had rattled him upon reading the letter from your mother, where she outlined the things Lucille was accomplishing in their own life. Never in your life would you want to hear about his time; especially now that you had learned what a cruel man he was.

And maybe that haunted him.

Maybe that lit his soul on fire with unbridled rage.

Maybe that was why he had clapped you across the face when the argument had gotten more heated, and forbade you from writing to your family again.

You sighed as you propped your chin on your hand and looked out the attic window. It was the only window in the house that didn't have a curtain. The sun was setting to the West at six o'clock in the evening. The shivering shade was creeping up over the hills, shrouding the city in darkness. Anderson had gone away on a mission this morning, leaving you to your devices. This was about the only peace you got in the relationship, and you thoroughly loved it.

You took a sip of your tea and exhaled deeply, leaning back in your chair. Plans of escape were bubbling in your head. As you spent your days learning more about him and his routines, you were plotting something big. If you could get him to trust you just a little more, you might just be able to survive this. You could get back to your family and inform them of the atrocities you had been subjected to. You could see your friends again - see Lucille. Most of all, you would be free from your abusive, obsessive husband and his contradictory ways.

His treatment this last little while was proof that you were chipping away at his exterior. He had actually started to grant you more kindness. Last Tuesday, he had let you go to the marketplace on your own. The condition was that you arrive back home within the hour.

"Ya don't want me to come find ya, dear," he had threatened you before your departure. "Be a good girl, now."

And you had been, though more for yourself than for him. You had returned home ten minutes before your deadline, two bags of groceries in your arms. Needless to say, your husband had been quite pleased. He had been so pleased, in fact, that the sex hadn't hurt that night; he had actually tried to grant you pleasure.

Just before he had left, too, he had given you a large hug and promised you that he would venture with you to your parents' house when he got back. You smirked as you thought of how gentle his face became when he looked at you. It had taken a while, but you were starting to convince him that you returned those sick feelings he harboured for you. You were starting to convince him that you could be trusted.

A little more time was all you would need for you, the prey, to outsmart the malicious wolf in sheep's clothing. He wouldn't know what hit him, if you played your cards right.


	20. Alucard: New Orleans Medicine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short Alucard x Voudon!Darling, wherein he meets the most enchanting woman during a mission in Haiti and she despises his attention.

Alucard winced as Integra continued her lowdown of the latest mission. The platinum blonde didn't miss it.

"What is it?" She asked abruptly.

The vampire grinned at his master. "Please, continue."

With skeptical eyes, she did. She was only halfway through the explanation when, again, she saw her charge grimace. His body shifted as he tried to pretend he was not bothered, though the perceptive Hellsing knew better.

"Alucard, what's going on?" She tried again.

Seras, who stood next to the vampire, glanced at him with big, doe-like eyes. It seemed that even she didn't know what was going on with him. Odd, seeing as she could often tell Integra exactly what the man was feeling within a given moment.

"She called it _Voudon_ ," he drawled with a smirk.

"She...?" Integra pondered aloud.

"I think he means our latest recruit, (f/n) (l/n), ma'am," the blonde fledgling replied.

The businesswoman nodded in understanding. During their most recent mission to Haiti, they had come across a woman who possessed extraordinary powers. She claimed that it had been in her family for generations, that her mother and grandmother had taught her everything in order to protect herself. Alucard became rather bewitched by the lady, particularly after she had proved herself worthy of his affection by stabbing him through his limbs with her sacred knives. She was swift and didn't need to rely on her magic to defeat a foe.

Of course, a woman of her strength had driven a hard bargain, but Integra had managed to strike a a deal; she would join the organization and provide her services in exchange for their protection. She had been sad to leave her homeland, but she had recognized the meaning behind the arrangement. There were people who lived nearby, people who wanted to see her dead. Her family had caused too much ruckus in the town over the decades for her to remain safe in her own home. She had agreed after some deliberation.

Since, however, Alucard's obsession only got worse. He followed her around the manor and spoke with her often, even when she was communicating with her deities. Integra could tell that it drove the woman up the wall, to have the vampire lingering. That's when the doll emerged. Integra had read somewhere that Voudon didn't utilize voodoo dolls, as Western culture knew them, so it had been a bit of a surprise. Upon asking her about it, she had scoffed.

"Ah, I learned this trick when visiting New Orleans many years ago, _madame,_ " she had told her. " _Bien sur_ , it is not part of my belief system. It is not Voudon."

Alucard scowled for the umpteenth time as a simper wafted across his master's face. Even from a distance, the woman was tormenting him as he did her. She was certainly a cheeky force to be reckoned with.

"Maybe this is a sign to leave her alone, servant," the Hellsing mused. "She doesn't seem to like you."

"She will," the undead being's replied cryptically, grunting when another round of shooting pain, this time in his shoulder, struck his body. “And I am a patient man.”

Seras covered her mouth, trying not to giggle at the hilarity of the situation. Her master asserted that a woman who actively tried to harm him would grow to care for him. She seldom questioned his sanity, for it did no good, but she had to, here. There was no doubt that the Haitian lady had some grand reservations about the vampire; he was being absurd if he didn't understand that. She had even requested a room at the estate far away from him, upon first arrival.

Seras feared for the wellbeing of their latest recruit. She knew what Alucard was capable of. He wasn’t subtle or gentle, and he didn’t take defiance well. Sure, he was patient, but he could only be idle for so long.


	21. Alucard: The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alucard x Reader, wherein he comes back for you after his 30 years of absence.

There was something wrong tonight. You hadn't felt energy like this is decades, and yet fear still resonated through you at the slightest hint or danger. It's not like it was even your problem anymore; you didn't know why you perked up at it. You had forfeited your membership of the Hellsing organization approximately thirty years ago, after Alucard had disappeared.

At first, you had hesitated, for if he had returned within the next few months to find you gone, there would have been hell to pay. Integra hadn't let you flee immediately. When it became clear that the vampire had been killed or was gone for good, she had finally allowed you your leave.

"I can't stop you if you want to go," she had said finitely, sitting across from you at her giant oak desk. "You have no reason to stay here now that he's been banished."

"Banished?" You had asked.

She had nodded. "That's what I'm calling it. I'm not sure he's dead."

But you had wanted to believe that. You had wanted to assume his demise merrily, so that there was no risk of him ever coming back for you. If you knew him as well as you thought, from years serving Hellsing and two more under his wretched, lecherous eyes, you knew he would never give up on what he felt for you. It wasn't love; it was far too twisted to be called such a thing. You recalled that it had been more like an obsession. He had involved yourself in every aspect of your life, before restricting you from the things beyond his presence that brought your joy.

No more friends.

No more family.

No more heading out to the bar with Pip or some of the Hellsing soldiers.

Alucard had forced himself into your life, and remained situated there until his final breath.

Now, as you gazed out the window at the mist rolling in from the ocean, you clutched your sweater closer to your body with dread in your gut. It was no secret to you that he had risen once more. He had risen and was here, whether it was to find you first or seek out his master, you would encounter him eventually. There had been no preparing you for this moment. All the magic in the world couldn't protect you from his thirst.

You closed the window and walked over to your alter. Once a mage, always a mage. At the ripe age of sixty-two, you had managed to extend both your life and youthful appearance. On top of that, you had taken up alchemy to help with the aches and pains of aging in an ageless manner. Since your resignation, you had ceased using your magic to harm others - even the supernatural. It was a different story if they targeted you, of course, though you had been pretty good at staying under the radar. As such, you were rather rusty.

Again, it wasn't like it mattered much. If he wanted you, he would get you.

The lights flickered in your apartment at that moment, making you gasp softly. It was a rainy night in London but the weather had never affected your lighting before. You had an inkling that the electricity was going to be cut in a matter of seconds. Turning around, you gripped your alter knife behind your back. It was foolish to think that it would be effective; you knew it wouldn't make a difference. Nonetheless, the weapon calmed you with its false sense of security.

You waited, your breathing measured and your eyes wide in anticipation. It didn't take long for your assumption to ring true. The overhead lights buzzed once and then snapped off, leaving you shrouded in darkness; just what he liked to see.

You heard something stirred across the room. You didn't sense him, but he had ways of disguising himself that you couldn't even comprehend yet. There was no doubt that he was in the dwelling, closer than you thought. As if on cue, you saw a black mass form in front of you. You had to squint your eyes to make any of his details out. His crimson eyes bored into you, shining through the blackness like lighthouse beacons on rough waters. Your breath hitched.

"You've barely changed, my dear," he drawled, voice as deep and smooth as you remembered it. "Magic does wonders for you mortals."

"Integra was right," you growled, clutching the knife tighter. "You're back."

"Back, yes," he acknowledged. "But I've always been watching you."

You grimaced. Of course he had.

"Then you know I've been dreading this moment," you snarled defiantly.

"I can't say I've been impressed with your behaviour in my absence," he mused, ignoring your comment. "That's why I had to make a few stops before I came to you."

Your mouth ran dry. What did he mean by that? Had he done something to the other men you had been with during his absence? He couldn't have. That was too insane, even for him. Though, judging by the expression he wore as he advanced toward you, you could tell that your most lucid nightmares had come true.

He read the look of terror on your pretty face and chuckled condescendingly. You always made the best expressions for him. He had missed inciting them.

"You know better than to make me jealous, pet," he said with a hungry smirk as his cold, undead hand came up to stroke your cheek. "Now, put that blade down before you hurt yourself, and greet me properly."


End file.
